


A Curse of Generations

by Xamem



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Character Death, Curse Breaking, Eventual Romance, Fae & Fairies, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xamem/pseuds/Xamem
Summary: Maeve is the new farmer in town, the first new thing Pelican Town has seen in awhile. And that would be great, except she's not a farmer, and actually, she's not even human. She's come to figure out the Valley Curse. While she knew it would be complicated, she never could've expected her that her new reality would include friends, potential romance - even, perhaps, a few near-death experiences.
Relationships: Elliott/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Sebastian/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. Longshot

**Author's Note:**

> You only have to read this opening note if you ever read "A Stranger in the Valley". Or if you're curious! But PLEASE read this if you ever read that.
> 
> So! A lot has happened. And as I was writing Stranger, I realized that I had no plan. So I sat, I wrote an outline, a whole plot, beginning to end. And I was like okay, I'll just go clean up these chapters I wrote sporadically over the past few years, and I'll just keep posting there. Then I realized they were jumbled. They were messy. They didn't work with the story I wanted to write about Maeve, the story I had figured out.
> 
> So... I rewrote them. And here we are! With an actual plot and plan and enough chapters to post on schedule for a few months! I don't think I'll delete Stranger. I want to remember it, and the kind words people wrote about it. But this is where Maeve's story is. I hope you'll join me for the ride.

The fresh grass was tickling her toes, the spring breeze was blowing her hair everywhere, and Maeve was already having to lie. She and the mayor of this town, a man named Lewis, stood before an abandoned farmhouse. She remembered a time when the owner of the house kept fields full of flowers and orchards bursting with fruit. Now, ten years after his death, the soil was covered in grass and weeds. Felled tree limbs and rocky boulders created, and subsequently blocked, trails through the veritable forest the farm had become. Maeve was perfectly at home with this, but Lewis clearly was not, shaking his head in dismay at the undergrowth.

“Yeah. Looks like a lot of work.” This was the one thing she disliked about this arrangement, though she had nobody to blame but herself for this. She wasn't a _grower_. And that wasn't even why she was here. The farm was a cover story, if that. It sounded more plausible than the truth.

“Sure is,” Lewis said, smiling as he did so. “But I’m sure you’re up for the task. After all, you grew up helping your grandpa grow the flowers. It’s like riding a bike.”

Maeve frowned, both because the man wasn’t her grandfather, and also because she had never ridden a bike before, and had no idea what the sensation was like. "I'm sure. Well, if I could have my key..."

"Oh! Of course," Lewis said, handing her a small set. He didn't explain where they all went to, and Maeve suspected that he didn't know himself. "Well, I hope we'll see you at the saloon one of these nights. Don't be a stranger!"

"Certainly," she muttered. "Lewis?" she asked, instantly shifting to a syrupy sweet tone. "Where's the library at?"

Lewis chuckled at this, as if she had told him the funniest joke. She hadn’t known him very long, but she was getting the impression that he didn’t take much seriously at all. "Always the jokester, you were!" And he wandered off, without an answer to her question. She rolled her eyes and figured out which key fit into the lock, finding it on the third of four.

Her new home was… stuffy. Cobwebs had grown in the rafters, delicate gossamer strands stretching from beam to beam. The light highlighted some dancing dust motes that made her nose itch. The floorboards creaked dangerously as she checked what few rooms she had – a tiny bedroom with sheets that smelled of mothballs, a rudimentary kitchen, and a fireplace with no wood in it. The only sign that another creature had been here in the past decade was a small set of footprints – a raccoon’s, perhaps – but even that was dusted over. It was simply less dusty than everything else. The single window was clouded over, and Maeve wondered if she’d be able to crack it open and let fresh air in.

 _Cleaning,_ she thought. _Cleaning will make me feel better. Cleaning will give me a next step._ So she set to work, clearing the dust off the every surface, stripping the bed of sheets that she’d just throw away. The single bookshelf was unhelpful, providing only cookbooks - nothing she actually cared for. The small kitchen had an assortment of pots and pans, all of which needed to be washed. Later. She needed to find the library as soon as she could. The sooner she found what she was looking for, the sooner she could get out of this cursed town. She had found a map, folded up and faded, stuck in the pages of a book dedicated to bread making. Unfortunately, the map had _zero_ identifying markers on it - not a single label for what any of the buildings could possibly be. It wasn’t even clear where the farm was supposed to be.

“What,” she muttered to herself, turning the map every angle she could think of, “is the point of a map that doesn’t tell you where to go? Aha!” She’d finally figured out which patch of land had to be the farm, and she marked it so next time she wouldn’t have to spend so long figuring it out. If she had to make a map herself, she’d make a map herself.

Luckily, there were maybe ten buildings in the entire town - there was what looked like a ranch to the south, judging by the large swaths of cleared land. To the east was a plaza, though what anything in the plaza could be was anybody's guess. _Probably the Saloon is out there._ She didn't really want to go. She wasn't sure if she was ready to see that many people at once - or even how many people this town _had_. But having dusted the entirety of the house and put away what little possessions she had brought with her, she knew she had to start figuring out her next steps somewhere. That was as decent a place as any to start, so she checked in the mirror, brushed some dust off her pants, and headed out.

* * *

Turns out, the Saloon wasn’t difficult for her to find - it was right in the middle of town; a large swinging sign indicated she had found the right place. It was also the only lit place in town by the time she left - the two homes to the southwest were dark, and so was the store, apparently owned by a Pierre. The building directly to Pierre’s left, with a large cross sign, had a single light upstairs. The door was locked when she tested it, curious. She’d have to check it out later.

The Saloon was an immediate assault on her senses after a day spent listening to the chirp of birds and bugs and relative solitude. A large wooden box in the back was spouting out music, a tune she had never heard before that nobody seemed to be dancing to. She gave the place a quick cursory glance, noticing that while there was ample seating, this was the only visible exit, and there were more rooms beyond her vision. There was a portly, friendly looking man in the back who called out a greeting as she came in, and a woman with short blue hair next to him who echoed the sentiments. Two fiery redheads were to her left, sipping wine and whispering, their heads bowed low. They spared Maeve a glance before returning to whatever they were whispering about. Lewis was sitting with a portly brown-haired woman at the entrance, and he stood to greet her, beaming.

“Miss May! So lovely of you to join us. Everyone,” he called, and the half a dozen souls gathered turned their attention to him. Maeve could already feel her face burning. She’d wanted to keep as low of a profile as possible, and while that didn’t mean she’d be antisocial, it _also_ didn’t mean Lewis had to _announce_ her like a member of the royal court. “This is our newest farmer, the granddaughter of dear Richard, may his soul rest with Yoba. Everyone give her a warm welcome!” The man and woman behind the counter both clapped enthusiastically, as did the woman Lewis was sitting with. The red heads nodded, and the one with longer, looser hair - a man, Maeve could see now - peered at her with unmasked interest. He didn’t look away, even as Lewis steered her towards the bar, chattering on how Gus was just the best cook in the valley and also an excellent bartender and whatever she wanted was on him, but only _one_ drink because surely she had a lot of work to do on that old farmhouse the next day, didn’t she? The intensity of his gaze unsettled her, and she touched her face to assure herself that everything was in place. Nothing seemed off. Her hair, a lighter shade of purple that contrasted nicely with her dark skin, was in a simple ponytail, and all her facial features were in the correct spots. She was just paranoid. Really, it was unusual that nobody else was reacting like he was. The valley hadn’t had visitors in... she wasn’t even sure, the years were too numerous to count. Maeve was more than a novelty - she was an impossibility.

While musing over her strangeness, and how surely this wouldn’t be the only such reaction she’d get, she’d failed to pay attention to what the bartender - the blue haired woman, not Gus – had asked her. She smiled politely, clearly waiting for some sort of a response to a question that Maeve hadn’t heard.

“I’m so terribly sorry. What did you say? I must be tired from the journey, and I’m kind of zoning out,” Maeve said, adding a slight laugh at the end. She had no idea if it sounded natural or not.

“Well, Lewis said he’d pay for a drink, so I was just asking what you wanted. I’m Emily, by the way. You’re May, right?”

“Maeve,” she corrected, and wondered if she should’ve just stuck with May, with that mayor’s loud mouth. Ultimately it didn’t matter. “I don’t really need a drink, thank you.”

Emily shrugged, sliding a glass of water towards her. “Drink this, at least. It’s easier to watch people when it’s over the rim of a glass.”

“Thanks,” Maeve said, taking a sip of the water and testing Emily’s advice. She was right - at least, it didn’t feel like she was openly staring anyone down. The other redhead at the table, a woman with a braid, waved Maeve over. She glanced from the woman to Emily, hesitant, but Emily had already turned away, chatting with a gruff man who was sipping on a beer. So she took a breath, steeled herself, and went to join the two of them.

By the time she made her way to the table, having stopped only briefly to talk to Marnie, the man was gone. Marnie's words were slightly slurred, but she told Maeve that she owned a ranch just south of her farm, with cows and chickens and goats for sale, should she build a barn and choose to raise some. Maeve didn’t have the heart to tell her that not only was she useless at taking care of other living things, but she didn’t think she’d be around long enough to build a ranch.

“Hi, I’m Leah,” the woman said, holding out her hand. Maeve stared at it, unsure what to do, before realizing a beat too late she wanted to shake, that signal of “hello” that humans did when first meeting each other. Maeve grasped it, hoping Leah didn’t notice the pause. The woman’s pale hands were warm, rough, and strong, hands that crafted things. “Elliott was there until a moment ago, but he said he had to run off for something. Probably a flash of inspiration,” she laughed, “which is liable to strike at any moment for him. How was your first day in the Valley? I can’t remember the last time we had a visitor. Or a new occupant at all, really.”

“Ah, it was fine,” Maeve said. “Mostly cleaning, tidying, researching.”

“Researching?”

“The Valley, I mean. I don’t really know much about the place. It’d be nice to know its history, if I’m going to live here.” She couldn’t lie, but it wasn't _technically_ a lie. She could twist and manipulate the truth to suit her purposes.

“Well, I’m not the best person to ask,” Leah said, taking a long drag of her wine, a dark burgundy. “I’ve only lived here a few years. But maybe check out the library?”

A few years to her, maybe. “I tried to ask Lewis about that earlier, but he wouldn’t tell me. He just laughed like I was joking.”

Leah roller her eyes. “Typical unhelpful man. He probably assumed you knew where it was. It’s over the bridge, near the museum.” Maeve stared at her blankly, not knowing where that was, either. “Did nobody give you a tour or anything? I figured there would be a whole welcoming crew for our first new townie in years.”

"Of course not. Lewis thought I'd remember everything from when I was younger." Of course, he had no idea that she had never been to the valley as a child, would have had no idea that she had never stepped foot in the valley until that very morning.

"Well, we'll just have to fix that, then! Let's see who I can tell you about, since we're already here." Leah began to rattle off names of Maeve's new neighbors with a short descriptor. 

Maeve smiled and nodded. The list seemed to go on and on, and her head spun trying to keep track of so many names without a face to attach to them. 

“Hmm…” Leah tapped a thoughtful finger to her chin. “Who else? Oh, I’m an artist, and I live in a cabin near Marnie. She lives with her niece and nephew. Said nephew is over there,” she said, pointing to the gruff man Emily was still talking to. “A little rough around the edges, but a nice family.”

“North of your farm is Robin and her family. Robin’s a carpenter, and her husband Demetrius is a scientist. Both of them will happily help you turn that farm into something, if you want to. They’ve got two kids between the two of them. I think they’re about your age?” Leah squinted her eyes, reappraising Maeve, and she noticed the crow’s feet and laugh lines forming on the other woman’s face. Subtle hints of aging that wouldn’t be acceptable where Maeve came from. “Something like that. Sebastian, their son, has a gaggle of friends who hang around here playing pool every Friday.”

“Let’s see… Harvey owns the clinic, Marlon has a guild up the river. I don’t know, someone will point it out to you later,” she said, yawning audibly. She slammed her drained glass on the table and patted Maeve on the arm as she stood and left, as abruptly as she'd introduced everyone. Maeve suddenly felt terribly small and vulnerable, uncertain that she had even made the right decision coming here.

 _But I’m here,_ she thought to herself, leaving a few coins on the table as a tip, despite not having bought anything. _Time to get to work_.


	2. Dirty Old Town

The day after, Maeve figured she needed to start working on the actual farm business. It might have been a cover story, but it was one she needed to maintain. She'd never been a grower - she liked animals, she liked to feed the little raccoons and rabbits and squirrels that seemed drawn to her. And she'd done her fair share of gardening. It just wasn't her _talent_. Her mother made the most beautiful flower arrangements, bright red poppies mixed with gentle white spangles. Her father's pumpkins and melons were the plumpest, juiciest harvest, revered by even royalty. Maeve had never quite gotten the hang of it.

Thinking of her family – especially her grandmother – pained her heart, but she was here for them. She’d be reunited with them soon enough.

More than planting, Maeve figured she needed to clean the place up. Disorder was fine, but only when she was the one who made it that way. This was how Abigail found her, sweat dripping down her back as she cleared a field near the house. Maybe she could put chickens there, eventually. If she was around long enough.

“Hey!” Abigail called, and Maeve spun around, startled. She hadn’t expected anybody by the farm today, and was inwardly grateful that she hadn’t been performing magic openly. She wasn’t sure that she would have been able to explain that away.

“Um, hello.” She peered at the girl whose hair a lighter shade of purple than her own, nearly lavender, and her skin pale, already starting to tinge pink from her trek to the farm. Maeve couldn’t place her - the girl hadn’t been at the bar the night before. “Can I, uh, help you?”

“Oh, I’m Abigail, sorry. I forgot we hadn’t met. Pierre - dad - has been going on about you for ages, so it feels like we’ve already met. Dad wanted me to give you these seeds, as a thank you for turning this land into something.” Abigail rolled her eyes as she handed over the small satchel, labeled ‘parsnips’. Maeve sensed that this wasn’t really a gift, but an investment. She took it anyways, knowing she’d probably never plant them. Perhaps she would, just to humor him, and let them wilt.

“Thank you. That is very kind of your father.”

“Yeah, sure. What made you decide to take over the place anyways?” Abigail asked, beginning to lean on a rotting fencepost and changing her mind, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I mean, this is a _lot_ of work. Dirty work. And in this town? Nothing ever changes. I think you’re the first...” she paused, her mind struggling to calculate the last time the valley had had a visitor. She frowned. “Well, in any case it’s been a long time.”

As Abigail asked, Maeve was bent over the weeds, tearing at them with a sickle. She was frantically searching for a reason she was in the valley that was at least a half truth. She couldn’t lie outright - her ancestry wouldn’t allow it. But she was adept at twisting words into pretty sentences that were close enough to the truth she could let them pass her lips.

“I’m here for... research,” she said, brushing a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. “On an old legend, though I haven’t had the time to actually _do_ my research yet. Lewis won’t tell me where the library is, and he seems to think that this stuff is more important.” She gestured towards the half-tilled ground, knowing that it probably looked like a pathetic effort. Abigail frowned and shrugged.

“How typical of him. It’s on the end of town. You’ve been to the tavern?” Maeve nodded. “Just follow that road over the bridge and you’ll be there in no time. It’s not like there’s that many roads here anyways.”

"Would you show me?" Maeve swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing that it was ridiculous to be nervous, and yet she was. She'd been raised to _know_ things. Having to ask for help - being so completely unsure of what she was doing, what her next steps needed to be - was new and frightening. "Maybe if I have a friend with me, Lewis will leave me alone," she continued, pushing out a sharp laugh.

"Yeah, sure. I was actually going to go after I dropped these seeds off. How long until you're done?"

"Now," Maeve said, dropping the tools that she'd been using on pretense. "Lead the way. Leah was going to give me a tour anyways, and I think it’s about that time. She said to meet her at the Saloon.”

The pair walked in relative silence back to the square, a route that was familiar to Maeve as they passed the hospital again, as well as the shop, which she now knew belonged to Pierre and his family. "You've already been to the bar," Abigail said, then pointed to two houses to the west, a small street Maeve hadn't explored yet. Leah was nowhere to be seen, and Maeve wondered if she’d somehow gotten the time wrong. They’d just have to go without her. "I don't know who all you've met, so stop me when it gets repetitive. Sam and his family are the farthest house down there. He's one of my best friends, weird blonde hair, ball of sunshine?" Maeve shook her head; she'd remember a man that looked like sunshine. "You'll meet him soon enough. He has a little brother and his dad is... well, he's not here now. Jodi always has us over for dinner, though."

"The house next to it is Emily's and Haley's. Emily would've been the bartender, so you've probably met her, but Haley doesn't really hang there. You wouldn't _believe_ they're related."

"I remember Emily," Maeve murmured. She was kind and, though enthusiastic, had an aura about her that was soothing, like chamomile.

"She's hard to forget. And _that,"_ she said, pointing to the opposite side of the street, near the river, "is where Lewis lives."

"He must have fathered many offspring," Maeve said, taking in how many rooms the house - nearly a mansion, really - must have had. Abigail shot her a strange look, and Maeve wasn't sure what she had said wrong.

"'Fathered many offspring'? Okaaaay... He had some kids, I think, but none of them live here anymore. They're all out in the big city." She frowned. "I can't... I can't actually remember. Well, whatever it was, they're not here anymore. He lives in that big old house alone."

 _That must be sad,_ Maeve thought, and she remembered how Lewis thought she was the granddaughter of the man who used to live on the farm she was currently inhabiting. She hadn't really been paying attention at the time, but there had been a wistfulness to his eyes as he talked about his old friend. _I wonder how long he's been gone, at least to Lewis._

Maeve was jolted from her train of thought by Abigail's fingers snapping in front of her face. "Hello? Earth to Maeve? Were you listening?"

"No."

"Well, pay attention! I'm not repeating this tour for free. Leah lives in the woods that way, near Marnie, Shane, and Jas. Marnie might be the sweetest woman in this town. If you ever need anything, and I mean _anything,_ go to her for it. If you ever decide to raise chickens or anything, that's her business. The woods are also pretty cool to explore, and they border the south end of your farm, if you feel like exploring, or if you need wood or anything."

"This town is bigger than I thought." When she’d set out, she’d imagined a single row of houses, a small forest, maybe a little river. It wasn’t _big,_ by any means, but It had more than she had expected.

"I'm almost done, I promise. And it might _sound_ big, but trust me, it's not. So to the north, also accessible by the back of your farm, is Sebastian and his family. Sebastian is my other best friend. His sister Maru is pretty cool, and so is Robin. She's like my second mom," she said, and something flashed across her eyes as she said it, so briefly that Maeve wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it. "And there's a cave up there, with mines and stuff, but I wouldn't go down there unless you know how to fight. It's pretty dangerous, with lots of monsters, but also lots of _treasure_." There was no mistaking the gleam of excitement that this thought put in Abigail’s eye.

"Do you know?" Maeve asked as Abigail stepped forward, towards the bridge near Lewis' house. "How to fight, I mean. It sounds like you've spent a lot of time down there." She glanced at the river, flowing lazily towards an ocean she could catch a whiff of. Various fish lay just beneath the surface, and she wondered if she could set some traps for them.

"Some. Enough. I don't go very far down, but Marlon - he's one of the men that runs the Guild - has been teaching me how to use a sword. He says I have natural talent," Abigail said, standing a little taller as she said so. Maeve could tell this was something she was deeply proud of - and, she suspected, something her father _wasn't_ so proud of, or at least didn’t know the full extent of.

"That bridge leads to the beach, and Elliott lives down there. It's pretty nice in the summer, if you like that kind of thing." Maeve grew intensely curious - she'd never been to a beach before. She'd heard from the water nymphs what it was like, when fresh rivers turned to salty ocean, but she'd never been, and could only imagine what sand would feel like between bare toes.

"And _this_ ," Abigail said, throwing her arms open with a flourish, "is the library!" It was a small, humble building, older than many of the others she'd seen in town, but still sturdy. She loved it instantly, loved the old wood, the history she could feel humming beneath it.

"Thank you. For showing me the way." As if that needed to be clarified.

"Of course," Abigail said, opening the door for both of them. "I would have found an excuse to hang out with you anyways. I couldn't tell you the last time someone our age lived here. It's... refreshing to get new blood."

 _I seriously doubt we're actually the same age,_ Maeve thought, but didn't say anything. She might be unsure of a lot of human customs, but she _knew_ that was something that would raise an eyebrow. How would she explain that fae lifespans were longer than humans - that they aged differently, and even though Maeve _looked_ like she was in her early twenties, she was actually much older than that?

"Well, thanks again, for whatever your reason was. I appreciate it." She figured Abigail would leave her alone then, to do whatever it was she had come here to do, but she didn't. Instead, she grabbed Maeve's wrist - her fingers warm and soft against Maeve's icy pulse - and dragged her to the front counter, where a man whose fashion sense could only be described as "denim cowboy" was looking at some crystals through a magnifying glass.

"Gunther!" Abigail shouted. A few people sitting in the common area - a redheaded woman who wasn't Leah, dressed in yellow, and the redheaded man from the night before - glanced at her, and returned to their books. _There's too many redheads in this town,_ Maeve thought. How was she supposed to keep track of them all?

"Inside voice, Abi," Gunther said without flinching. Clearly, he was used to this kind of intrusion. Abigail continued in a voice only slightly quieter.

"Meet the new resident. She's here to do research on..." She turned to Maeve while simultaneously shoving her forward. "What were you researching again?"

Maeve frowned, trying to think of a way she could tell them what she was doing without actually _telling_ them. "Well, the thing is, I'm... I'm researching old stories, I guess." This wasn't untrue. A big part of breaking the curse was going to be reading up on the old legends, the old stories. Things she didn't know much about, that had been passed down from generation to generation, twisted and changed. Her people didn't know what these stories were. But they should have been preserved here, still set in the pages of the books that hadn't changed for decades.

Gunther finally looked up from his mineral, interest piqued. "Oh? That's refreshing. The young folk here are _never_ interested in the old tales." He beamed at the pair of them, absolutely delighted. "What legends are you looking to read about, exactly?"

"The oldest ones you have." _All of them._ She wasn't sure what she was looking for, and wasn't sure he'd be able to find it, even if she described it. It was about _them_. And hadn't their memory being wiped? She really had no idea where to start.

"Follow me." Abigail tailed behind, but stopped to talk to the woman, who was reading to two children Maeve hadn't noticed before, a little girl with dark skin and purple pigtails, and a small boy with a wild mess of strawberry blond hair. Gunther led her towards some shelves in the back, dusty things that looked as if they hadn't been touched since they'd been erected. The man – his name was Elliott, if she remembered correctly – followed them with his eyes, and Maeve felt a strange shiver down her back. Her glamour was on, she was sure of it, but she still felt strangely _seen_ by him. "These are the oldest ones we have, sorted alphabetically. Unfortunately, I can't tell you much more than that unless you're looking for a specific title."

"No, no, that's fine," Maeve said, brushing him aside as she caressed the spines with her own thin fingers. "I'll know it when I find it. I appreciate your help, really." She glanced around for a seat, noticing a small table next to what looked like a shelf of minerals. "You seem like quite the researcher yourself. Do you run this whole place by yourself?

"Yes ma'am," Gunther said, tilting his hat towards her. He really was some kind of cowboy, and she wondered if he'd been stuck here longer than the other residents. Something about the library felt timeless, even compared to the valley, as if it were its own section of the universe. "Marlon gives me whatever he finds in the mines, and I research it, catalog it, and display it. The books are all my own personal collection."

"Fascinating. But I see some blank spaces. Is your collection not complete?"

"It probably never will be,” he sighed. “Hey, I don't know if you explore those mines the way Marlon does. Nobody does, really, they're awful dangerous, especially with the influx of monsters... but if you do, and you bring me something I don't have, I'll reward you handsomely for it."

"I'll remember that," Maeve murmured, her mind already drifting away as she stacked books in her arms. Soon she had a pile as tall as her torso, and Gunther left her alone to peruse them.

Abigail never returned, either having forgotten her or just choosing to spend her time with the woman she'd seen. Maeve wasn't sure, but she didn't mind. She wanted this time to herself, to really focus on what she was reading. Gunther didn't seem to realize the true worth of all the books he had in his care - there were even some that told the legends of her people in ways she'd never read before, stories she had only the vaguest memories of. She made a mental note to transcribe some of these later, to bring back. Her grandmother would be overjoyed to see them again.

As she read, she began to notice a common theme in the books she had selected - none of them were as recent as they should have been, and none of them read like a legend being passed down. Those would read, at least a little bit, like fact – these all treated mermaids, witches, and fae as fiction, not as things that lived and changed the valley.

With a frustrated sigh, Maeve slammed the book she was reading shut. She didn't care about the conception of the Junimos; this was information she already knew, and this legend had it wrong anyways. The little forest spirits were guardians, or at least, had been. They hadn't been seen in hundreds of years, and nobody knew what had happened to them. But that was long before the curse that fell on the Valley; the two didn't seem to be related. With a yawn and stretch, she realized that night had fallen; the changing of the light from sunlight to dusty lamps had missed her notice. She, Gunther, and Elliott were the only ones left in the library, and all three of them engrossed in their own business. She wondered if Gunther lived here, and if he wanted them to leave.

As if reading her thoughts, Gunther glanced up - this time from something that Maeve recognized as a faerie crystal - and smiled at her. "You can take whatever books you aren't done with home, as long as you promise to take care of them. I'll shelve whatever you have left."

"Thank you." She was baffled, again, by how very _kind_ everyone in this place was. She couldn't imagine what somebody with this collection of books would say back home if she had asked to borrow them, a rare and valuable treasure. Laugh in her face, probably. Spit at her, maybe. Drive her out? Absolutely. "I can have them back tomorrow."

Gunther shook his head, already gathering the titles that Maeve had decided to abandon. "No need. Keep them as long as you like. Elliott over here and Penny are my two main customers. It'll be nice to have a third."

Elliott glanced up at the mention of his name. She saw then that he wasn't reading, but rather writing something in a leather notebook, his script loopy and elegant. She ran through all the facts she knew about him – he was friends with Leah, he lived by the beach, and apparently, he was an author. Her face grew hot as she realized he was still staring, clearly interested in _something_ about her, and she checked again that her glamour was in place. The harder someone looked at her, the more likely it was they’d find a flaw. From there, they’d be able to unravel her, like a loose thread on a sweater.

"Well, thank you, again. I really appreciate it. You've helped me more than you know." He hadn't yet. But he would. She could feel an energy in these tomes, and she knew, eventually, that she would find what she wanted.

Maeve wondered if she should, perhaps, introduce herself to this Elliott person, but he had already returned to his notebook, and she didn't want him to stare at her like that again. It made her worry about her glamour, and worry usually had the opposite affect and made the glamour worse. Instead she gathered the books she wanted to keep in her arms - a modest five, four with thin spines and one thick - and made her way back to her farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, I made a deadline I set for myself :') teehee i hope you enjoyed this second chapter! I'd love to see Gunther's library. It looks like a pretty magical place.


	3. Can't Sleep

Maeve dreamed restlessly that night. At first she thought she was home, but the longer she stood there, she realized there was something... _wrong_ with it. Something twisted. The shadows were too jagged; and the trees leered at her, threatening rather than welcoming. There were no comfortable nooks, no well-trod paths that she knew by heart. Eyes stared at her from the spaces between the trees and disappeared before she could get close, cackling. She called to her family, to the sparrows, even to the blades of grass beneath her feet. Nothing responded. She was terribly, utterly alone. And she smelled something sickly sweet, something burning in the distance.

Something like death.

She started awake, her thin sheets twisted around bare legs, the sound of the rain pattering gently against her window. It was a stark contrast from the dream she had just inhabited, and she shook her head, trying to clear any bits that were stuck in it. Her dreams had never been prophetic – she wasn’t a seer – but she still feared them. Even if it wasn’t exactly the way it appeared in the dream, a bit of it _always_ came true in some form.

She rubbed her eyes, still heavy with sleep, and looked out the window. Dark, and not just because of clouds - it was still night. Maeve fiddled with the old television that had been left behind, not entirely sure how it worked, until a bright picture flashed to life. It was silent, and she couldn't figure out which of the knobs was supposed to bring up the volume, but she could see one thing flashing clearly across the bottom - 3:13 AM.

Groaning, she shut the tv off again and sprawled across the floor, the wood cool on her hot back. She knew she wouldn't be able to go to sleep again after that dream, and her mind was too foggy to even think of cracking open those books.

A walk. A walk would do her good. Murmuring some words to ward off the rain, she drew a blanket around her shoulders and left. She didn't bother to lock the door.

She hadn't explored behind the farm yet - or to the front of it either, really. The path was mostly overgrown, with one narrow but well-trod path. Bushes covered in large, juicy salmonberries caught her eye. _Worth bringing a basket to gather them later,_ she thought, plucking one to see how it tasted. The salmonberries were a taste of home, a delicacy that grew wild in the Spring Court. Nobody was allowed to touch the bushes because for some reason, the berries grew better without magic touching its soil. One of the few things they couldn’t improve on. Maeve closed her eyes and savored the taste – each berry was a burst of flavor in her mouth, sweet and yet tart. She was so focused on the taste of the berry that she failed to notice the footsteps behind her.

“Yoba above,” came the whisper, and in one swift motion her dagger was out and to the throat of the man who had snuck up behind her. Maeve’s heart pounded, the blood rushing to her ears, now on high alert.

_I’m so stupid, _she thought, beating herself up inwardly for failing to keep on alert. Hadn’t she been taught to _never_ let her guard down? To _always_ be on the alert? Only two days in, and she’d been spotted. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

“Your name,” she hissed, giving him a quick once-over. Sensible but well-worn boots, a sword at his hip, which she noticed remained sheathed. He could have unsheathed it while she was distracted, but he didn’t. An eyepatch on a grizzled face, and light scars covering his arms. His eye that was uncovered stared her down, but there was no fear there.

“Marlon, head of the Adventurer’s Guild. And you’re Maeve, the fae intruder. I’d appreciate if you’d remove that pretty little knife from my neck so we can talk.”

Marlon. Gunther had mentioned him, yesterday. He was some kind of explorer, if she remembered correctly. “What a ridiculous accusation.” Her thoughts were swimming with panic – he knew who she was. Everyone might know who she was. They might kill her for it. She might unravel the fabric of the town’s existence with it. She had _no_ idea what would happen now. This wasn’t in the plan.

Again, she was back to not knowing, and that was the worst place to be.

Marlon sighed, but made no move to push her off him. “I think it was would be best if we agreed not to lie to each other. Not that you can, really, but I'd rather you be straight with me. I could sense the moment you moved down here that something was off. Something had changed, in a way that only a visit from the fae could change it. You don’t have to worry about anybody else – they’re not really attuned to the arcane in that way.”

“You remember… before?” She figured there was no use in trying to deny it. She’d rather him put all his cards on the table right then.

Marlon nodded. “Oh, I’ve been here a long time. Know a bit of magic, but that’s mostly for protection down in the mines. I remember Unfrai, and how he used to bring us some amazing goods from your people.”

Maeve blinked in astonishment. “You knew my grandfather?”

“I did. In fact, I recognize his handiwork in that dagger of yours. _Blood calls to me,_ ” he said, and though his pronunciation was clumsy, his tongue tripping over a sound not made in his language, the words rang true.

Maeve released him, stepping back in confusion. “You know my language.”

“I know more than that,” Marlon said, brushing dust off his pants. “Or at least, I did. My memory… it’s started to fade, just like everybody else. But if you’re here, that must mean it’s finally ending. We can all remember.”

“I don’t… I’m not…” Maeve grasped for words that wouldn’t come. “Marlon, I’m making the decision to trust you since you know my people, my language, my _grandfather._ But know this,” she hissed, tilting his chin up with the point of her weapon. “If I even suspect a _hint_ of a treacherous bone in your body, if I even begin to think that you’re here to hurt my people, I will _end your life_.” She didn't trust him. Not really. But she'd rather him think she did. It would give her more options.

Marlon didn’t seem at all perturbed by this information. “As long as you promise to make it quick. Did Unfrai send you?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, and I’d like to continue my walk.” Maeve pushed past him to continue up the path, trying to quell the tremble she felt in her hands. She didn’t want to think of home, of why she had come.

_I’m sending you to break the Valley Curse._

_This is what I raised you for._

_You insolent, useless child._

She shook her head and clenched her arms, steadying herself. She was here for her reasons, and her reasons alone. That was what she had to keep telling herself.

“I’d suggest you go see Harvey if you’re having trouble sleeping,” Marlon called. “And if you’re ever interested in adventuring, a new sword, a quest… My guild is right by the cave in the mountains. Offer is always open.”

Maeve turned, but didn't sheath the dagger. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

It had been too dark to really enjoy her walk through the backwoods, and being spotted by Marlon had shaken Maeve up more than she cared to admit. She kept tripping over roots that normally she’d have no problem sensing. Somehow she’d found her way back to the town square, and though the sun hadn’t risen yet, the sky was tinged with a ring of orange. It looked to be a clear day, and though her eyes were growing heavy, she still couldn’t imagine falling asleep. _Marlon mentioned Harvey, and I’m pretty sure he’s the healer of this place. I know where to find him. I think._ If she remembered correctly, it was the large white building next to Pierre’s, with a green cross hanging over the door. It was too early for him to be open when she got there, so she sat cross-legged next to the door and closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow down.

“Maeve? What are you doing here?” The voice came from above, and it started Maeve from her state of exhausted half-consciousness. Leah was crouched over her, braid swinging inches from Maeve’s face.

“Uhh…” she moaned, rubbing at her still-tired eyes. “Well, I woke up in the middle of the night because of a terrible nightmare, and I was told to see Harvey about it.” She didn’t mention that Marlon was the one who suggested it. If he was the only one who knew her secret, she’d rather it keep it that way.

“You know you can go in, right?” Leah offered her a hand, rough and strong, and helped Maeve to her feet. “We don’t really do appointments here,” she said, opening the door ahead of them. “Harvey! Maru! Have you met Maeve yet?”

Behind the counter was a young woman, younger than Abigail or Leah, with darker skin and hair in tight little braids that met in a neat bun on top of her head. Her large glasses accented the larger features of her face nicely. Her dress – a healing uniform, Maeve figured – was crisp and white, without a single wrinkle or misplaced crease. She smiled warmly and reached for something underneath the counter, pulling out a large bottle that she pushed towards of Leah.

“Harvey!” she called. She punched some numbers onto a machine that displayed a total for Leah, who dug in her satchel for money. “How has this been working for you, Leah?”

“The pain has settled down, and I don’t need to take as many pills. I’ve been doing the stretches you showed me as well, and they’ve been working wonders.”

Two men emerged from the back, Elliott and the man she assumed had to be Harvey. “Ah, Maeve!” said Harvey. Maeve immediately noticed a few things – he was wearing a lot of _green,_ all of which emphasized his lovely eyes. He was older, with streaks of grey in his hair and bushy mustache, laugh lines and crow’s feet adorning his pale face. His smile brightened as he firmly shook her hand. “I’m the town doctor. I heard you’re the new farmer. Hopefully we won’t be seeing too much of each other,” he laughed.

Elliott leaned in and tilted his head – a strange little bow. Maeve wasn’t sure if he wanted her to curtsy back. “I’m Elliott. I believe I saw you at the library last night, but I confess I was engrossed in my own book and neglected to introduce myself.” His eyes met hers, and there was a glint in his eyes – as if they shared a secret that nobody else in the room did.

“I suppose I can forgive your egregious rudeness,” Maeve said, with a sarcastic little bow in turn. “It’s nice to finally meet the man Leah spoke so highly about.” Elliott smiled as he straightened and turned to Harvey.

“Doctor, thank you for the advice. I’ll make sure to try that and let you know if it fixes the soreness. And Maeve,” he said, turning to her again, “If you ever wish to discuss whatever you’re reading, my cabin is down by the beach. You can’t miss it. Leah, I expect you’re still on for tonight.” Without further preamble, he swept out of the room, unnaturally graceful.

Harvey scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll never be used to him…” he sighed, before directing his attention to Leah and Maeve. “Maeve, did you have a reason for this visit? Or was Leah just giving you a tour?”

“Ah, well…” Maeve was suddenly doubting that this was the right decision. _Why,_ she thought, _do I always run headfirst into decisions without thinking through all the possible consequences?_ “I just had some trouble sleeping. Thought maybe you could give me some pills for it.”

Harvey frowned, giving her a quick once-over. Not in the way that some men back home had, in the way that made her skin crawl and gooseflesh pop up her arms, but in a medical, almost detached way. “I’d prefer not to prescribe drugs if I don’t need to, and I’m especially wary, since you’re a new patient. Actually…” he scribbled some notes on the pad he held, though he wrote so quickly that Maeve couldn’t imagine it was legible. “We don’t have any appointments for the rest of the day. Is it okay if we do a quick physical? Just to get a baseline. Sine you’ll be preforming hard labor, it’s a good idea to start monitoring your health early.”

“I, um…” Maeve could feel the pounding of her heart behind her ears as her anxiety ramped up. She was no medic, but her she knew that her body and those of the humans around her had a few fundamental differences. Would getting her vitals – noticing her lower temperature, her slower heartrate – be enough for this doctor to see through to who she was?

Harvey tapped the side of his glasses with his pencil. “I understand that you’re nervous. If you want, we can just talk in the back.”

“Just talk.”

“Mhm.”

“No exams?”

“No exams. Though I do hope you’ll feel comfortable enough for those in time.”

Just talking. No exams. Maeve took a moment to think it over. Harvey didn’t seem to know who she was; as a man vested in the human sciences he probably wouldn’t even think it a possibility. It was an easy way to gain trust, maybe some information. A doctor was never a bad thing to have on your side.

Plus, maybe he would get her some sleeping pills, if she whined enough.

“Sure. I can do that.” Suddenly she remembered that Leah was still there, though she seemed to be lost in conversation with Maru. “Leah, I didn’t mean to keep you. I’ll catch up with you later?”

Leah waved her hand dismissively. “You’re not keeping me from anything. I’m going to the Saloon for breakfast. Just meet me there when you’re done.”

_Something to look forward to_. Leah was quickly becoming a little beacon in this town, and anchor Maeve could cling to. She hadn’t really intended to make friends. She couldn’t _keep_ friends. But an ally was always useful.

Harvey led Maeve to a room in the back. She didn’t like this – the deeper into a building you got, the easier it was to become trapped. Fewer exits, fewer windows, less opportunity for escape. The walls were just as a sterile and clean as Maru’s dress, setting Maeve on edge. Excepting a single potted plant at the entrance, there was no greenery; nothing that reminded her of outside. Even the window was positioned in such a way that the sunlight could barely stream in. When they got to the room, Harvey gestured for Maeve to sit in one of two chairs. She decided to stand.

“I won’t take your measurements today in the interest of time. But besides sleeping, have you noticed any other changes in your health lately?”

Maeve shook her head no. “Well, the sleep was because of a horrible nightmare I’d had, but those aren’t constant.”

“So this is a new occurrence.” He made another note. She wondered if she could say anything he _wouldn’t_ consider noteworthy. “How did you feel after you woke up?”

“Tired,” Maeve admitted. “Though I think that’s fair. A bit anxious. I went for a walk, to clear my head, and ended up falling asleep outside of your clinic.”

Harvey’s eyebrows met as he made more notes. “Any health problems in your family’s history?”

_Poison,_ she thought dryly, though of course that wasn’t the kind of health problem Harvey was thinking of. “No, my family is the picture of health.” At least, what was left of them.

“Excellent!” More scribbling. Maeve heard a clock she somehow hadn’t noticed before, an incessant ticking that ground on her nerves. “Maeve, do you go to the mines?”

A beat, then another. “I haven’t, yet. Why?”

“I’d advise against it.” A brief sorrowful look crossed Harvey’s face, but he cleared it just as quickly.

_He’d do well in the Courts, though a bit softhearted,_ Maeve thought. Out loud, she asked why. She’d wanted to investigate the mines, even before Marlon had informed her of the guild. Now she had even more of a reason to check it out. She had her suspicions, but she needed to do some research first.

“I’ve had to treat people who come from the mines. Some of them don’t come out the same. Some of them haven’t come out at all.” They let the silence stretch out. Harvey was probably remembering those who had gone before. Maeve wondered how long he had been holding on to his grief, and her heart ached. To bear the burden of a healer was one thing, but to hold those ghosts was centuries was another.

Maeve injected a cheeriness into her voice that rang false, even to her ears. “I can’t make any promises, but I’m quick and I’m clever. I’ll be careful.”

Harvey sighed – perhaps he knew he couldn’t keep her. “I’ll have you make an appointment with Maru for a real exam, but for now, I think you’ll be fine to just drink some chamomile before bed.” He extended his hand, which Maeve shook – she was getting rather good at it, in her opinion. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Maeve.”

* * *

Leah was sitting at the far end of the Saloon, a half-eaten plate of eggs in front of her. She waved Maeve down as she entered, but there was no way she could possibly miss her. The only other patron at this early hour was a heavyset woman at the bar. Maeve slid into the seat across from Leah, realizing as she did so that she was famished.

“What were you doing slumped outside of Harvey’s office this morning?” Leah asked. Maeve appreciated that she got straight to the point. “I thought I was gonna have to call the coroner.”

Maeve made a mental note to check what a coroner was. It didn’t sound good. “I had a bad nightmare and woke up in the middle of the night. I went for a walk because I couldn’t sleep. I ran into Marlon, and he told me to visit Harvey. So I figured I’d wait outside of his office.” All true, and just missing some details about her conversation with Marlon that she prayed Leah wouldn’t press her on. She couldn’t think of any ways to twist that away from the plainness of what it really was.

“Sorry to hear that,” Leah said, shoving a forkful of egg in her mouth. Maeve wrinkled her nose at the smell of hot sauce coming from her plate. “Well, it’s supposed to rain this afternoon. Perfect time to take a nap.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Silence as Leah continued to eat her eggs. Maeve wasn’t sure how to continue talking. She was so _bad_ at this. “I’m sorry, by the way, if I missed you, the other day? Abigail ended up showing me around.”

Leah’s eyes widened as she brought a palm to her face. “Crap! I completely forgot. I can be _so_ scatterbrained sometimes. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not long at all. Really, I was more worried I was keeping you waiting. What do you do?”

“I’m an artist.” The eggs were finally finished, and Leah pushed the plate away. “Moved down here a few years ago to pursue my art and escape a relationship. Became best friends with Elliott, a fellow dramatic artist. That’s me. Do you have any questions?”

Maeve was relieved the conversation was steering towards simpler topics. Direct questions, clear answers – Leah didn’t know it, but this was saving her. “What kind of art? Do you enjoy living here? What’s your favorite flower?”

“All kinds,” Leah started, and Maeve could see that shift in her eye that mean this was something she cared deeply about. “I paint, I craft. But I really enjoy sculpting. And I do enjoy living here. I came to forget my old life, and I… I mostly have. And any flowers, really, as long as they’re bright.”

They chatted like this for some time, mostly about the kind of materials Leah liked to work with, and a little bit about Maeve’s passions, none of which really involved creating anything. By the end of it, both women had eaten another plate of eggs and a basket’s worth of fruit. A few other people had trickled in, including Marlon, to Maeve’s dismay. He sat near the entrance and pointedly ignored her, never meeting her eyes with his one. That is, until she finally excused herself, telling Leah that a nap didn’t sound like a bad idea after all.

As she passed his table, he subtly grabbed the hem of her garment – not in a way that would trip her or draw anybody else’s notice, but enough to make her stop. “If you’re interested in exploring those mines – if you’re interested in a bit of monster hunting – don’t forget the guild,” he hissed. Maeve’s skin crawled as she hurried home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to runawayface for reading this chapter early and helping me with some issues! Really made it a lot smoother. Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! <3


	4. I'm So Sorry

The maw of the cave yawned in front of Maeve, threatening to swallow her whole. It smelled musty and save for a single torch on the left hand wall, was completely dark. Water dripped from somewhere deeper inside. Marlon’s words had stuck with Maeve, swirling in her head as she tried to plant the parsnips Pierre had given her. She’d needed to visit his store for fertilizer and had ended up spending more time talking to Abigail than browsing the shelves. When she mentioned the northern cave, Abigail’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“You haven’t been to the caves yet?” she had whispered, leaning close to Maeve with a conspiratorial grin. “They’re _amazing_. So much treasure, and so many monsters to fight!” The gleam in Abigail’s eye at the thought of fighting concerned Maeve – Abigail was tough, but enough to fight the supernatural? She’d seen that hungry spark in another’s eyes. Left to grow on its own, it could overcome a person.

“You sound rather excited. Are you a trained swordswoman?”

“Not _trained,_ per se, but Marlon lets me practice whenever I can get away from the shop. Let’s go! Tomorrow! I have the day off.”

“Tomorrow? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. I’m not really supposed to go alone after what happened. Oh, this is perfect!”

“Wait, what happened?” Maeve asked, though Abigail ignored her as Pierre walked by. She was suddenly very focused on the bags of fertilizer in front of her, making sure they were arranged in perfect rows. Pierre, satisfied, returned to the counter, where he was chatting with Lewis. Something about taxes.

Certain that he was gone, Abigail leaned in again. “Nothing major. Just a landslide that took a few months to clear. I’m sure it won’t happen with supervision!”

Maeve sighed, knowing there was no way she was getting out of this. Still, she couldn’t blame the girl for her excitement. She felt that same tug, that desire to see what was beyond the world she knew. “Fine. I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

That was how Maeve found herself in front of the cave, a small knapsack of supplies on her back, with Abigail beside her, wielding a sword that was much too large for her. She was exuding confidence, which made Maeve even more apprehensive about this whole venture. An overconfident person with a sword was far worse than a timid one. A timid one, at least, was only likely to hurt themselves.

“How far down have you gone?” Maeve asked.

“Umm, I don’t know. Probably about ten floors? It starts to get _really_ dark down there, and there are a lot more slimes, so I’ve never gone past that. Marlon would probably have my hide if he knew,” she laughed.

“Marlon, is he… a friend of yours?”

Abigail fidgeted with sheath of her sword, staring at her feet as she answered. “Well, not a friend, per se, but a mentor. He taught me a lot of things that dad…” she trailed off without finishing the thought, instead choosing to light a torch. “Never mind that. You’ve got the tools?”

Maeve nodded. Part of the supplies Lewis – or perhaps the man who used to live there, if she was being honest – had left her a pickaxe, thankfully with a wooden handle. There was also a sword, rusted and chipped, that she had left behind in favor of her dagger. The pickaxe, heavy in her hand, was sturdy. She suspected she could also use it as a weapon in a pinch.

“What kind of monsters are down there?” They had their fair share of monsters in the fae realms, though they had patrols to keep them out of the main courts themselves. She’d trained fighting shadow creatures, wild animals, creatures beyond human comprehension. Whatever was in these caves surely had to be tamer, right?

“The deeper you go, the more ferocious, or so I’ve heard. The first few levels are pretty chill, though. Some slimes, some bugs. Nothing that dangerous, but it’s always good to be prepared.” As Abigail explained this to Maeve, she’d led the way to a ladder that looked to be on its last legs, splintered and rotten. “Ready?”

Maeve nodded, and Abigail didn’t hesitate to take the ladder first. Maeve followed. By the time she had descended, her feet struggling to find purchase, Abigail had already lit a torch. The room was small, and there were no monsters. Just a few rocks that held little promise of treasure.

“Let’s get digging. I brought a shovel, since my pickaxe is getting repaired by Clint right now. Let’s take corners.” They fell into a steady but quiet rhythm, Maeve smashing rocks, Abigail digging holes. Abigail didn’t let that last long.

“So why are you really here?”

Maeve focused all her energy into smashing the rock in front of her to quell her unease. “I told you, research.”

“Yeah, but like… there’s gotta be another reason, right?” Abigail panted, still shoveling. “I mean, what’s there to research here? We don’t have much history. Our museum isn’t even complete.”

Maeve bent down to collect the faerie crystals she had unearthed, glimmering in shades of light pink and lavender – a common gem at home, but a relatively rare one for the area. She pocketed them. Perhaps Gunther would want them.

“You’d be surprised what there is to discover about this place, if you work hard enough.”

“So are you, like, in school or something?”

“No. This research is for myself.” Maeve steadied herself and swung the pickaxe again, yelping as the rock gave way to soft dirt. A ladder, a few feet below but still reachable, revealed itself. “Is this normal?” Maeve called.

Abigail hurried over, questions of school and research forgotten. “Oh, sweet! You found the ladder! Let’s go.” She had found a single geode, which she threw in Maeve’s bag. It fell heavy to the bottom and she winced. If her purpose on this trip was to be pack mule, Abigail could forget the idea of having an adventuring companion.

“You didn’t answer me. Is this normal?”

“Yeah,” Abigail said, lighting and setting a torch in the new room. “So, there used to be ladders that went all the way to the bottom floor. I think there are well over a hundred, but nobody is really sure. Time went on, dirt filled in. You have to find the ladder to get down.”

“So you could potentially fall through at any time.”

Abigail frowned. “I mean, I guess so. But isn’t that part of the fun? It changes every time, too. Not sure why, but it keeps it interesting.”

Maeve rolled her eyes but said nothing. She’d have to be more careful as she smashed rocks apart. “Abi, what do you like to do here?”

“Hmm…” her attention was focused on a swath of grass in front of her that she was sawing away with her blade. “Well, I hang out with Seb and Sam a lot. You’ll meet them soon enough, if you haven’t already. We play pool and eat pizza at the Saloon every Friday. I play video games. Have you ever played _Prairie King?”_ Maeve shook her head. “Oh, it’s _so_ much fun. I’ll have to teach you. And I help my dad around the shop, not that there’s much business there.” She sighed, clearly unsatisfied with something. “And I come out here, when I can. That’s about it.”

“Any dreams?”

Abi snorted at that. “To get out,” she said, tone harsh. Then, softer, “I want to make a name for myself. Become an amazing adventurer. See the world. I don’t know. I just know there has to be _more_ out there.”

“I’m sure you will. One day.” _Another reason to break the curse_. They mined in silence, Abigail absolutely delighted to find some amethyst. Maeve made a note that she liked gems of any variety, and that they could be useful gifts, should she need to win Abi over.

Maeve didn’t own a watch – she could usually tell the time by the position of the sun – so she didn’t realize how long they’d been mining until Abi gasped, scrambling to gather her things. “Oh _Yoba,_ my dad is going to _kill_ me! I’m supposed to be home in ten minutes!” She didn’t need to say that he’d be even angrier if he knew where she’d been, even with Maeve. Abi ran for the ladder that led up. Maeve followed. In her hurry, she didn’t notice the cracks in the floor, the sunken part where the dirt was a little looser.

She didn’t feel the falling – that was too fast. She _did_ feel her ankle roll beneath her, heard the _pop_ as something snapped, and felt the pain shooting up her leg.

“Maeve? Maeve!” She could hear Abi’s voice above her, but didn’t move for fear of injuring something even more than she already had. Her right ankle throbbed. She didn’t want to imagine walking on it. Her right side, which had taken the brunt of her fall after the ankle, felt bruised but unbroken. She was covered in dirt, of course, but mostly okay.

“I think I sprained my ankle!” she called, pushing herself up. _Or maybe broke it._ She’d landed near the ladder and used it to stand, leaning heavily on her left side, praying it didn’t follow her to the ground. “Can you help me?”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” Abi scrambled down the ladder and gathered Maeve’s backpack filled with minerals and the pickaxe, throwing them back up the ladder with surprising strength. “I can’t carry you out or anything, but you can lean on me.” Maeve did so, testing the ground with her injured foot. She winced – pain shot up her leg, but it was doable, at least for this short stretch. It was a struggle, but through perseverance and a lot of grunting, Abi was able to help her up both ladders. By the time they were at the mouth of the cave, Maeve thought she was going to pass out.

“We need to get you to Harvey. Do you think you can make it?”

“Yeah, I think so…” After a single step, Maeve’s leg buckled beneath her, and she cried out in pain. “I take that back. Can’t you bring him here?”

Abi’s face, streaked with dirt, looked panicked. “I don’t want to just leave you here. This part of the mountain can be dangerous at night. You know, beasts and nasties and stuff like that.”

“Well we can’t _stay_ here!” Maeve snapped, voice strained. Abi looked around frantically, finally focusing on a small point of light across the river.

“I’ll be back. Don’t move.” She took off down the river at a sprint.

“It’s not like I was going to try,” Maeve muttered, lowering herself to the ground again and stretching out her injured leg. The ankle was already starting to swell. Abi returned moments later, but not alone.

“Maeve, this is Sebastian. Sebastian, Maeve. Can you just watch her? I need to run and get Harvey.”

The area was dimly lit, but Maeve could still see that the young man in front of her was lanky, taller than her or Abi. His hair, dark as the night sky and offset by his pale face, was asymmetrical and swooped in front of his right eye. His clothes were dark as well – a black hoodie that was a little too warm for the spring weather, and black jeans. The glow from across the river must have been the cigarette he was now putting out – otherwise, he was nearly invisible.

“Abi, what did you get her into?” Sebastian said. He voice was even, seemingly unconcerned.

“She fell in the caves. Not important how it happened. Are you going to watch her or not?”

Wordlessly, Sebastian offered a hand to Maeve. She took it and allowed him to sling an arm around her, leaning fully on him to support herself. Despite the warm clothes, his hand was cold, the long fingers icy. His hoodie smelled of cigarettes and… something else, something earthy that Maeve couldn’t identify. “Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Sebastian murmured. “Can you walk?”

“A little bit.”

“Take your time. I just want to get you closer to the house, where the light is better.” Abi had run off, and hopefully would be back soon. Maeve took one step, and another, hopping on her good foot in an attempt to stay off the injured one. “So… you’re the new farmer, right? Or are you a miner now?”

“I’m a farmer in name. I’m really more of a researcher.”

“Mmm. Okay.” Sebastian didn’t ask any more questions, and Maeve was grateful. It was too difficult to speak and focus on not stepping with her bad foot at the same time. They made it as far as the house that she knew he lived in before she had to give up.

“Let me sit,” she gasped, “Please, I can’t.”

Sebastian helped her down, lowering her next to the wall. He slid next to her, lighting up another cigarette as he did so. “We’ll be fine here. The creatures don’t come out this far.”

Maeve wanted to ask more about the creatures – what kind were they? What about the shadow people? The dwarves? She knew they had lived out here at one point, but did they still? Were they merely hiding? But she didn’t want to scare him off, so she focused on the lake around them, not having gotten a chance to explore it before. On the hill above them was a bright yellow tent, with ashes that told of a recently extinguished campfire. The night was clear, and stars were reflected in the lake. And out the mouth of the cave, a pair of red, glowing eyes.

Maeve blinked, then rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. The eyes remained. They blinked back. She tugged on Sebastian’s hoodie. “Hey, do you see…” she trailed off as she turned back, because the eyes were now gone. But she was _sure_ she had seen them, and there was only one creature she could think of that had eyes like that.

Footsteps pounded up the hill, and a moment later Abigail came into view, Harvey only a few steps behind her. Harvey had clearly just come from bed – he was still in his pajamas, white with blue stripes, and a fluffy green robe hastily thrown over it. Tucked awkwardly under his arms was a pair of crutches.

“I’m sorry we had to meet again like this,” Harvey said, and though his face was flushed from the exertion of the uphill run, his manner was calm. Maeve was reminded again why he was the town doctor. “Where does it hurt?”

“Right ankle. I fell down a hole in the mine and landed on it.” She grimaced as her elevated the ankle, noticing the bruising that was already starting to develop.

“Can you move it?”

She flexed the foot. It hurt, but she could do it.

“Feels to me like a painful sprain, but I’ll have to get an x-ray to make sure it isn’t a break. You can use these for now,” he said, offering her the crutches. “When you get home, elevate it and ice it. I can wrap it now.” Quick as a flash, he had the injured foot tightly wrapped, his deft fingers pulling the ends of the dressing neatly. The crutches were uncomfortable, but Maeve could manage.

“Thank you, doctor. Really, you didn’t have to come all this way.”

“Of course I did.” He smiled, and though the bags settling under his eyes exposed how weary he was, it was a genuine smile. “I can come by the farm tomorrow to make sure it isn’t worse. What time would work for you?”

“If you come around lunchtime, I could have a meal ready.” And by _meal,_ she meant a hastily thrown together salad. But garlic bread would be included, and wouldn’t that make up for it?

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about feeding me. But show me you can use the crutches. Actually, let me walk you home.”

“I don’t need special-”

“I’ll walk her.” Abi and Sebastian said it simultaneously and shared a look, the kind of look that only friends who had been with each other since diapers could have. Both of them spoke over Maeve’s protests, while Harvey watched them, slightly amused.

“Abi, it’s out of your way.”

“Seb, you’re literally standing outside your _house_. And I’m the reason she was in that cave anyways.”

“And you’re missing curfew.”

“I already missed curfew!”

“Just let me-”

“Hey, hey, why don’t we just… I don’t know… Why don’t you _both_ walk her?” Harvey said, having to nearly push his way between the two of them. “I’m not sure why this is even an argument, but as long as I know somebody is escorting her, I can go back to bed.”

The pair glanced up at him, then stepped apart, not having realized they’d gotten in each other’s faces. “Uh, yeah. You’re right. Thank you for coming, Doctor,” Sebastian murmured.

“It’s my duty. Oh, let Maru know she can come late for her shift later this week, okay? I had to reschedule George’s appointment.” With that, Harvey took his equipment, already neatly sorted in his doctor’s bag, and left.

Maeve’s arms were growing sore where the crutches dug in. “Do you guys… do that often?”

Abi laughed. “Yeah, kind of. You should see him and Sam. One time they argued for an hour over if a pizza folded in half was still a pizza.”

“It’s a calzone,” Sebastian muttered. “Let’s walk through town. It’s better lit and there’s less debris you could trip on.”

The walk was quiet. By now it must have been well past midnight, and the sky was clear, covered with stars and a half-filled moon. They dropped Abi at her home, where she climbed in through the back window. Maeve got the distinct impression that this wasn’t the first time she had done it, and hoped that Pierre hadn’t noticed her absence.

And so Maeve was left alone with Sebastian, who was pulling out yet another cigarette. “Do you mind?” he asked, though he didn’t wait to see if she minded before lighting up. She shrugged, which was difficult to do while balancing on crutches. The walk was silent, lit only by the glow of Sebastian’s cigarette and a small flashlight he had on him. Maeve was bursting with questions, but was too tired to voice any of them.

Finally, blessedly, the house. Sebastian opened the door for her without asking, a small, kind gesture that stuck out to her.

“You know where my house is, if you need anything. Guess I’ll see you around, Maeve.” With a resounding _click_ , the door shut behind him. Maeve carefully lowered herself into bed, making a small mountain of pillows to rest her foot on.

It would be an uneasy sleep, but still she smiled, thinking of those ruby eyes in the bushes. It was her first real clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget what day it was? Has my cat, with his newly diagnosed diabetes, been a distraction? Yes! Did I forget this fic? For once, no! Excited to get it moving along. Hope you enjoyed this little hint of what's to come and thanks for reading!!! (If you ever wanna chat, you can find my sdv blog @petalbrooke on tumblr!)


	5. Tiger Teeth

It had been several days since the mining incident. Maeve’s foot was healing, though slowly – she still had to keep it wrapped and was taking some weird pill that Doctor Harvey had prescribed her for pain as needed. At first, she’d been confused about the pills. Were you supposed to grind them? Apply the powder to the damaged area? No, he’d told her, rather bemusedly, it was just something you swallowed, accompanied with a glass of water and hopefully a decent meal. It was completely unlike any medicine she’d ever seen before. She had an interest and, to her mind, proficiency in herbal medicine, and had made a note to visit him later to ask questions.

She’d never been good at healing magic, and remembered vividly the time she’d tried to heal her best friend’s broken arm. She’d ended up _removing_ the entire arm. Not just the bones, either, but the _entire_ arm, leaving a weird stump that wasn’t sure how to be a stump. It had gotten fixed, but she always felt guilty when she saw the massive scar where they’d had to reattach the arm. She’d vowed never to try healing magic again. Of course, now she couldn’t heal her own ankle and was stuck waiting for these pills to work. After a restless day of attempting, and failing, to do anything around the farm, she’d hobbled over to the library. Might as well do some research, right?

Gunther had been delighted to receive the faerie crystals she had found, a mineral he didn’t have in his collection.

“Thank you ever so kindly for your generous donation,” he drawled, placing it below the counter. He’d have to prepare a spot for it. “I assure you that it doesn’t go unnoticed. Bring me some more and I’ll make it worth your while. But maybe be a little more careful,” he chuckled, pointing out her crutches. Maeve rolled her eyes. At this point everybody in town had heard about it, and the constant ribbing was starting to wear on her.

“Actually, I had something in mind,” Maeve said, smiling sweetly. “I was wondering if you would let me borrow some of those Dwarvish scrolls you have on display.” They were locked behind a cabinet, and he hadn’t offered them before. She could only assume they weren’t available to the general public.

Gunther’s eyebrows, already thick and bushy, met in the middle of his face. “Can you read Dwarvish?”

“Enough.” She wasn’t fluent, but she knew some basic words, and enough

Gunther sighed, producing the key from somewhere in his massive denim coat. “I’m trusting you. Those scrolls were very difficult for me to obtain, and I don’t suspect I’ll find more. They don’t leave these building. Got it?”

“Of course. I’ll be extra careful.”

“Go ahead and sit down wherever you like. I won’t make you carry them.” She complied as he pulled them out of the case, taking care to remove them one at a time. Each scroll had a distinctive ribbon, heavy and frayed at the edges – red, green, blue, then yellow. The scrolls were on a thick yellow parchment and smelled of ink and dust.

“Thank you, Gunther,” Maeve said, patting his arm as he unrolled the last scroll. “This really helps.”

She lost herself in the scrolls, pouring over ancient words that spoke of daily life, of war. The scrolls appeared to be a chronological history, telling of Dwarvish life before the Elemental War, as it was called, during the war, and after. Some of the accounts were devastating, difficult for her to stomach. She’d never even heard of the Elemental War. Was this why the dwarves and the shadows had gone into hiding? Was this why she’d never met either?

The war wasn’t what she wanted to research, however. As important as it was, she was looking for something else at the moment. Something specific. She’d thought she’d found it, or a hint of it, just maybe… if this word translated to what she thought it did…

A strangely appetizing, slightly fishy smell wafted its way into her nostrils. She glanced up and was startled to discover that Elliott was sitting across from her, a plate of steaming crab cakes between them.

“I was going to ask why you haven’t come to visit me yet, but I suppose an injury is a decent excuse.” Elliott grinned and pushed the plate closer to her. “Gunther said you’ve been here all morning. Aren’t you hungry? I don’t mind sharing.”

Maeve blinked and stared down at the food. Where she came from, food could mean a lot of things. It could be a sign that you’re welcome in that home. It could be a proposal. It could, especially if the giver was from a different court, be a trap.

But humans didn’t treat food like that, from what she’d observed. Food, especially food cooked in the home, was a gift. An extension of friendship. Elliott took a bit of one of the crab cakes and watched her curiously. If he was eating it, it was unlikely to be poisoned, and as she continued to smell the crispy cakes, her stomach grumbled, loud enough to cause Elliott to chuckle. She had barely eaten breakfast, and now it was well past noon. One cake couldn’t hurt.

“Let me get these put away first,” Maeve said, carefully rolling the scrolls up. She didn’t want to get grease on them and possibly damage the contents. She brought them back to Gunther, not even trusting herself to have them on the same table. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ruined a priceless scroll.

Elliott passed her a fork and a napkin, which she could only assume had been hidden deep in the pockets of his coat. As he watched, she lifted a bite to her lips. Why had he come here? He seemed to be everywhere that she needed to be, just at the time she was getting close to discovering something. Those thoughts instantly flew out of her head as the taste of the crab cake exploded on her tongue, savory and salty and, inexplicably, a little spicy.

“Did you make these?” Maeve asked, words muffled by her mouthful of crab. Elliott threw his head back and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that reminded her of music.

“I confess that my skill lies only in the pen, with little left for the kitchen. Willy made these and had extra, so I thought I’d have lunch here.” He eyed her small notebook, open to a page filled with scratched-out lines. “Are you a novelist, perhaps? No, wait,” he said, leaning closer and offering a conspiratorial grin. “A poet. I can tell by the eyes.” It took Maeve a beat too long to realize that she was staring stupidly, mouth paused midchew, but she couldn’t help herself. His eyes were _enchanting,_ a pale green that seemed to shift to blue in the light, like a piece of sea glass she had seen once. She bit her lip to hide how intrigued she was. The man had an energy she couldn’t deny, she just couldn’t figure out what the energy was.

“I’m no novelist, or a poet. I’m merely a researcher, and I was combing over those Dwarvish texts. I don’t suppose you’ve read them?”

Elliott shook his head. “While I’m fluent in more than just the local dialect, I’m afraid to say that Dwarvish isn’t one of them. I admire your dedication to academia. Tell me, have you met the dwarf that lives up in the mountains?”

Maeve felt her heart pump faster. So she had been right. The flash of red eyes at the mouth of the cave – they _must_ have been a dwarf. No animal had eyes like that.

“No, I haven’t seen him. Would you happen to know the best way to find him?”

Elliott’s eyes crinkled in the corners, the only sign of age on his otherwise smooth face. “I’ve never met him myself. I’ve never been sure that dwarves still existed, honestly. But those scrolls had to come from somewhere, didn’t they?”

“I suppose they did, but that doesn’t mean the dwarves still exist. It looks like the Elemental Wars took a toll on their society.”

“Well,” Elliott said, pushing himself away from the table, “it’s something to look into. Let me grab those scrolls for you before I leave.” With more grace than one would expect from a man so tall, he swept over, gathered the scrolls, and brought them back. He leaned over Maeve’s shoulder, unrolling the one she had been reading, with the blue ribbon. His ginger hair fell in front of her face, and she could smell salt and… something _fruity_ that she couldn’t pin down. Maybe pomegranate? His cheek nearly touched hers as he whispered.

“My offer is still open. Stop by the beach any time.” Maeve swallowed thickly, imagining the beach, the ocean, this man… As she watched him sweep out, his coattails flying behind him, when Maeve caught eyes with none other than Sebastian, who was entering at the same time. He gave her a light wave before dropping a book off at Gunther’s desk.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his hands in his hoodie. He glanced at her scrolls, then at her foot, shifting his own uneasily. Despite their comradery a few nights before, he seemed uncomfortable, his face strained. “How’s the foot?”

“Better. Doctor Harvey is hoping I’ll regain full mobility by the end of next week.”

“Good. I’m glad. Um, hey, so, Abi told me to invite you to game night later tonight.”

“Isn’t she grounded?” She’d made one stop to Pierre’s to thank him for the seeds and check on Abigail. When she’d asked about Abi, he’d drawn his lips into a thin line.

“She _won’t_ be joining you in the caves any time soon, if that’s what you’re asking.” It hadn’t been, but she got the message and didn’t go back.

“She was, but she’s been working overtime at the shop and she got permission to go. It’s at the Saloon. Just bring some pizza money. I mean, if you like pizza.”

_Pizza?_ “I… don’t know if I like pizza.”

Sebastian blinked, eyes wide. “You don’t know if you like pizza.”

“Nope.”

“I… wow, okay. We can treat you, then. Just be there by eight.” He left without giving her an opportunity to protest. She returned to her notes, knowing she wouldn’t have anyways. She smiled to herself.

She never would have thought that gaining trust would be this easy.

* * *

The Saloon was crowded, at least compared to the last time Maeve had been there. The atmosphere set her on edge. Everyone was just so _friendly_ , wanting to wave, to say hello, to ask her all about the crops she was growing. Back home, you were left alone in public. Everyone walked with an air of indifference, unless they had specific business with you. They didn’t stop you just to say _hello_. It was a bit of a culture shock.

She was immensely grateful that Abi screamed her name across the building, waving her over to a room slightly offset from the main bar. “Maeve, you made it! We’re over here!” She got a few glares from patrons at the bar, but their glares were in vain. Maeve hurried over so she would stop screaming.

“This is Sam,” Abi said, dragging her over to the couch. “the final part of our trio, and other best friend of mine.” Sebastian and the boy that had to be Sam were playing a game she had heard called pool, but didn’t know the mechanics of. They both had long poles and were using them to hit balls into holes set in the table. After a few minutes of observation, she concluded that Sebastian was trying to hit only the solid balls, and Sam was trying to hit only the striped balls. Sebastian seemed at ease, taking each shot with a casual confidence that implied he’d mastered this game a long time ago. Sam, on the other hand, was hopping around, bouncing on his feet, taking way, way too long to line up a shot three times over that he would still miss.

“Hi, May,” Sam said, distracted. “Abs told me the two of you got into some trouble.”

“Maeve,” she corrected. “We were fine, until I fell down a hole. My ankle is almost completely healed.” She flexed it and was pleased to feel only a slight pain, but nothing she couldn’t withstand. As long as she didn’t walk too much, she was okay.

Sam took his shot and completely missed. Sebastian hit three balls in, including a black one, which apparently won him the game. The two boys came to sit with them, Sam squeezing between Abigail and Maeve, Sebastian standing slightly to the side. Sam grinned, and Maeve instantly felt warmer. It was _that_ infectious.

_If he was fae,_ Maeve thought, _he’d be in the Summer Court. Except he’s too kind for it._ His blond hair stuck at an unnatural angle, and she could only assume he had styled it like that on purpose. His eyes blue eyes brimmed with sheer _excitement,_ even though they were all just sitting on the couch. And he was constantly moving – if not his arms, or his feet, he was tapping his toes, drumming his fingers, finding a tune that only he seemed to hear. These friends seemed to be a sliding scale – Sam on one far end, with Sebastian on the other, and Abigail somewhere in-between.

“A little miffed that _I_ didn’t get an invite, if I’m being honest. Why did the three of you get to have an exciting adventure?”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Because last time I took you to the caves you screamed like a child because you accidentally touched a slime.”

“It was _sticky!_ ” Sam whined, shuddering at the thought.

“Wimp.”

“Well, you could’ve gotten me when Maeve broke her ankle. That would’ve been cool.”

“Remember when you passed out because Abigail broke her arm?” Sebastian said, decidedly monotone. “Besides, it was like, one in the morning. What would be the point in waking you up?”

“I guess you’re right,” Sam said, slumping deeper into the couch. His self-pity lasted only a moment before he perked up. Gus has come bearing two large pizzas, steaming with gooey cheese, pepperoni, and vegetables.

“I see you have another tonight!” Gus said. The laugh that followed was more of a bellow; he used his whole body to express himself. “Any chance you can defeat our king here?” He jerked a thumb towards Sebastian.

Maeve laughed lightly, more focused on the pizza. “I don’t even know how to play, so probably not.” She reached and poked a finger into the cheese and brought it to her mouth. Mostly oil. She was too busy trying to discern flavor to notice that her companions were looking at her oddly.

Sebastian took the pizzas from Gus while passing him the money and some hushed words. Gus left them, closing the screen behind him. It cut off the music and chatter of the neighboring room, for which Maeve was relieved. It had been a lot.

“So,” Sam said, already speaking around a piece of pizza stuffed in his mouth, “what brought you to our little valley?”

_Why does everybody always ask me that?_ Maeve wondered. Could it not be enough for her to just want to live here? But then, they had no memory of someone moving here. She supposed it was only to be expected.

“I’m researching some ancient civilizations.”

“Meat or veggie?” Sebastian asked.

“Veggie, I guess.” Maeve didn’t really eat meat, unless she had to. It was scarce in the Spring Court; they needed their animals for product, not sustenance. She’d grown up making soap from goat’s milk and trading eggs for vegetables that the thought of consuming the animals they came from was just… wrong. Sebastian cut her a generous slice and handed it to her.

She stared at it, confused but unwilling to ask for help. Was she supposed to pick the vegetables off? That seemed terribly inefficient. She glanced at Sam, who had just put the entire thing in his mouth. _The bread is a vessel._ Tentatively, afraid she was doing it wrong but knowing this was supposed to be _normal_ , she lifted the pizza to her lips and took a bite.

The pain of singeing her tongue was brief, but it was enough to ruin her taste buds. She got one bite of gooey cheese and spinach, onion, and other greens, but after that? Tasteless.

“Do you like it?” Sebastian asked, eying her curiously. He had been more patient than her and was letting the steam from his slice cool.

“Ahhh,” she groaned, fanning her tongue. “Too hot.”

Abi laughed and poked her in the side, making her squirm. “Have you never had pizza before? When it’s fresh out, you’ve gotta let it cool so you can enjoy the flavors.”

“Unless you’re Sam,” Sebastian added. “Either he’s lost all feeling in his tongue, or he has a superpower we don’t know about.”

“Superpower,” Sam claimed, already on his third slice. “Do you like it here, Maeve? What was home like?”

She chewed thoughtfully on the now-cool pizza, contemplating how much information to give him. “It was bigger than here. But also quieter. Everyone mostly kept to themselves.”

“Jeez, quieter than here?”

“Not _quieter._ I don’t know how to describe it. But we kept to ourselves more. Here, everybody wants to know everybody else’s business.”

“Would you go back?”

“No.” Her answer was instant, the only one she had a _sure_ answer to. “I couldn’t. I have to finish my business here first.”

Sam sighed. “At least you have the option. I want to get our band off the ground. Tour the city.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Something always comes up.” Maeve tapped her fingers against her thigh, uncomfortable. She could imagine that ‘something’ he was talking about – gigs canceling last minute, no buses available, a sudden flu. If no opportunity for sabotage presented itself, they would just forget. Such was the nature of the Valley’s curse.

“What kind of music do you play?” Maeve asked, wanting to distract from the sadness that had overtaken Sam’s sunny face. This instantly brightened him, and he procured an acoustic guitar from behind the couch.

“Everything!” he said, strumming a few cords. “Abi, Seb and I have been The Pelican Town Project since we could play an instrument.”

“Name is under construction,” Abi muttered in her ear. Sam paid her no heed and kept talking.

“We’ve dabbled in all genres. We write all our own songs. One day,” he said, picking up speed on the guitar for emphasis, “we’ll be the most famous musicians to come out of this place!”

“That’s because we’re the _only_ musicians to come out of this place,” Sebastian said, rolling his eyes.

Again, Sam ignored him, instead starting to sing the lyrics to a song that Maeve didn’t know. His style of playing was unlike anything she had ever heard before, but she found that she liked it. They spent the night like that, messing around with his guitar, making up songs. Abi even brought out her flute, an instrument Maeve did know, and made it a duet. She didn’t realize how late it was when Gus told them it was time to leave.

“I think it’s my turn to walk you home,” Maeve said, turning to Sebastian.

“Are you sure?” He glanced at her ankle. “I’d hate for you to have to go home alone. And I’m close anyways.”

“I’m repaying a favor.” _And I need to pay someone a visit._

Sebastian shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, turning away from her. “If you’re sure.” Just like the walk to her farm, the walk to Sebastian’s home was quiet. While he was open around his friends, he seemed to draw into himself when he was around everyone else, Maeve included.

“Thanks,” he said upon arrival of his house. “Stay safe.”

“I will.” She waited until she was sure he was gone and all the visible lights were off before she left. She didn’t take the forest path home, or the path to the town square. Instead she went for the river, near the cave.

To Marlon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii. its basically on schedule right?? these were two chapters at first and then i was like lets just! combine them! fun fact. i hope all you lovely people are doing okay. i love you, be safe. thanks for reading as always! <3


	6. Rock Candy

The light of the Adventurer’s Guild was the only light by the river, besides the fireflies. Even Linus’s campfire was out. It was getting warmer – at the late end of spring, the days were getting longer and hotter. Summer would be upon them soon.

Despite the late hour, she could see somebody moving around – probably Marlon; nobody had told her of anybody else running the guild. She stopped with her fist an inch from the door, suddenly nervous. She’d come because Marlon was the only one who knew her identity – had known it, apparently, since before she’d even planted herself on the farm. She’d decided to trust him. Killing him hadn’t been an option, and she hadn’t wanted to do it anyways. But was trusting him the right choice? He had the power to ruin her whenever he wanted.

He had the power. But he hadn’t used it. She sighed and knocked. She would have to trust that he would continue not to.

The door, thick and slightly creaky, swung inward. Marlon poked his head out, seemingly unsurprised by Maeve’s presence. He smiled, and she noticed he was missing a few of his yellowed teeth.

“Finally decided to stop by. Come in. Gil, we have a visitor!” he called. It took Maeve a moment to figure out where this Gil was, but then she spotted him in a rocking chair by the fire. He was small, wrapped in multiple blankets despite the warmth of the night. Gil turned his head towards them, but didn’t open his eyes.

Marlon guided her to the barstool at his counter. As she settled in, he returned to sharpening a sword, one with an inky black blade and a purple hilt. Maeve had the fleeting thought that Abigail would have loved it.

“I can’t imagine you’re here just to chat,” Marlon said, “so why don’t you just get right to it and tell me what you want from me.”

“Well…” She was distracted by the various weapons, scattered haphazardly around the place. Weapons of all kinds – clubs, slingshots, a particularly menacing looking spear. “I wanted information.”

Marlon didn’t look up from his blade. “Then I would suggest you try the library.”

“I’m looking for more of a working knowledge. The dwarves. I need to know if you’ve ever seen any.”

“Why?”

Maeve scowled. “That’s my business. The library has records of them, and I know at one point they retreated to the mountains. But after that? Nothing. It was like they didn’t exist. And I’ve been to the mines with Abi, and I didn’t see anything there, either. Maybe it’s just deeper, but… I wanted to know if you had information, to steer me in the right direction. I figured your little Adventurer’s Guild might know something.”

“Mmm.” A noncommittal grunt from Marlon. He spent so long on his blade without acknowledging her that she began to think that maybe it would be better to just start canvasing the mines again. Finally, he held the blade out, testing its weight. “Perfect,” he murmured, or at least that’s what Maeve thought she heard. He seated himself across from her and fixed his good eye somewhere between her two.

“We’ve got Dwarves. Used to trade with them. But like the fair folk, their visits just stopped one day. Might be deep in the caves, might not be.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Your best bet would be here…” He pulled out a piece of parchment, weathered and brown, and an old pencil. While crude, his diagram showed her a safe path to the deeper recesses of the cave, about thirty floors down. That was the last place Marlon claimed to have seen a dwarf.

“Can’t guarantee that’s accurate,” he said, holding his hands up, “but it’s the best I can give you. I’d recommend something a little heavier than your dagger if you’re going down there.”

“My dagger is fine,” Maeve replied coolly. She was quick and had never had a problem taking down larger opponents with it. Cleverness and swiftness was all you needed to defeat a brute.

“At least bring some bombs.” Marlon rifled through a cabinet until he found the bag he wanted and passed it to her. “Cherry bombs. Pack a punch, but they shouldn’t hurt you.”

Maeve glanced at the bag of bombs, wary. She’d never operated human-made explosives before, and was worried about hurting herself, or worse: damaging the integrity of the caves enough to cause another landslide.

“What do you want for these? I don’t have money.”

“Nothing.” Marlon pushed them closer. “Just… come by once you find the dwarves.”

Maeve stared at him for a long moment, then pocketed the bombs. They might come in handy. And Marlon already knew dwarves existed. Surely it wouldn’t be the worst thing, if she shared some more info with him.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. You sure you don’t want a sword?”

“I’m sure. I prefer more delicate weapons.”

Marlon laughed, and it softened his gruff face a little. Maeve could understand then how Abi could consider him a secondary father figure. Having gotten what she came for, Maeve prepared to leave, but Marlon called to her again.

“One more favor. If you do find the dwarves, maybe convince them to trade artifacts? I know Gunther would love more than just those scrolls he has, but I’ve never found what he wanted.” Maeve could detect a hint of sadness there, of disappointment. _Marlon and Gunther must go back a long ways_.

“I will.” With no other business, she made her way home. Her sleep was blissfully dreamless.

* * *

Though it was late when Maeve went to bed, it was early when she arose, the sun barely peaking over the horizon. While her eyes felt heavy, her body felt light. She was giddy with the idea that she might find a dwarf today, that she might finally find her first clue. There were a few things she knew about the curse she sought to break.

First, she knew that it could only be broken by an outsider. That was as good as confirmed by Marlon, who seemed to be the only person who knew about the curse, and yet had made no attempts to break it. Perhaps if he tried, the curse got in the way, making him forget, hurting him. The methods were unknown, but it would make sense. Curses weren’t meant to be broken so easily.

Second, she knew that the curse had multiple facets. The details were still fuzzy, but she knew at least three guardians had been appointed. Three guardians who held power, who held artifacts… she wasn’t exactly sure, but there were three guardians, three groups, and she would have to find them all to fully break the curse’s hold. She suspected that the dwarves were one such group, which was why she had been focusing her attempts on them for now. She suspected the shadow people were a second group, but she couldn’t imagine who the third was. Hopefully one of the guardians would know.

Third, and finally, she knew the curse would take blood. How much, of what kind, she didn’t know. It was to be expected. She wasn’t worried.

With a basket of strawberries – the only crop she had managed to get to survive – and her assorted tools, she felt ready. Marlon’s map was messy and difficult to read, but she could understand enough. Certainly it was easier than how she and Abigail had done it – just blindly smashing rocks until they found a ladder. It was actually kind of fun by herself – since she was alone, with no risk of an outsider, she could shed her glamour. She could use her magic freely.

Her glamour and her true form weren’t all that different, really. Just less… _human_ , obviously. Her ears were longer, more pointed, like what humans imagined elves had. Some fae had them, some didn’t. She was taller, more lithe, her fingers extended beyond what a human would have, almost spider-like. Her eyes were more slanted, the pupils shaped more like a cat’s. Her true eyes were a shade of green no human had ever had, tinged with flecks of gold. Her hair was still purple, but shiner; it seemed to float around her, never getting in her way as she blew things up. She had wings, but preferred to keep them folded; something about them was just too showy for her.

And how _freeing_ it was to use her magic, to be boundless in it! When she’d made the decision to come to the Valley, she knew she’d be giving up magic. It was something most fae couldn’t live without. Her mother didn’t even walk; she constantly floated a few inches above the ground, just to keep her feet from getting dirt on them. Maeve figured she could go without. She liked to get her hands dirty.

But she’d _missed_ it. She’d forgotten the surge she got when she unleashed her magic, the electricity she felt sizzling in her veins. The rush of energy had no human words to describe it.

As she descended deeper into the cave, more monsters began to appear. Mostly they were bugs, the occasional slime. None of them stood a chance – from far way, she just threw rocks at them with her magic. If they got too close, she could stab them. They didn’t put up much of a fight, and in fact mostly left her alone. She left them alone as long as they stayed out of her way. It was around floor twenty-eight or twenty-nine – she had lost track – that she noticed it.

The first sign was small. Ore, neatly mined, nodules where gems clearly used to be. According to Abi, no humans had been down here, and the slimes didn’t exactly seem like the mining type. The best option? Dwarves. But the dirt around the ore veins was smooth; either they had covered their tracks or so many other creatures had trod over it that any distinct signs were gone. She sighed and moved on. She’d have to go deeper if she wanted to find them.

She’d kept Marlon’s words in mind continued to look for things that Gunther might want. There were some gemstones that she thought he had, and some she knew he didn’t. There were geodes that she pocketed. She’d heard that the local blacksmith could break them open. She didn’t trust herself to do it with magic – she was liable to blow the contents up as well. Her backpack was beginning to grow heavy, and she was afraid she’d have to come back another day, when she finally saw it.

It was just a flick of a shadow, barely discernable to even her advanced eyesight, but she saw it, running for the darkest corner of the cave. A short figure, not a human, certainly not a slime, but too solid to be a shadow creature. Her breath hitched as she realized what it meant, the only thing it could be – a dwarf.

The shadow had flicked out of sight, but its footprints – heavy indents in the dirt, indicating mining boots – remained. She followed them, having to crawl through a tight tunnel that only reached her waist. Her throat tightened. She _hated_ tight spaces; she was meant for open air. The caves themselves were tolerable, but only barely; being able to _feel_ dirt on all four sides gave the impression of being buried alive.

The only good thing about the narrowness of the passage was that there was no room for error. There weren’t any extra branching turns, no passages that the dwarf could have escaped from her. It was just _deep_ and, she noticed, slightly slanted. She was going downhill as she went deeper.

Five minutes of crawling turned to ten, then fifteen. Was she imagining her lightheadedness? Or was she running out of oxygen? Were the walls closing in, or had they always brushed so close to her arms? She couldn’t even turn back if she wanted to. The prospect of reaching a dead end and having to crawl backwards the entire way made her ill.

Just as she was beginning to consider going backwards anyways, there was hope – the tunnel had narrowed, and widened, if ever so slightly. This change was enough to give Maeve a boost, and she crawled faster, panting stale air, just _praying_ that this was the end.

She’d expected to find a campsite, perhaps, or a small trading circle, when she found the end of the tunnel. Something simple, mobile. From what she’d read about dwarves, they were nomadic – constantly on the move, never settling in one place.

The books were wrong.

At first, she was too relieved to be breathing cool (if damp) air to realize that the tunnel hadn’t just gotten larger. It had become a _massive_ cavern, so tall that she could barely see the tips of stalactites hanging from what had to be a ceiling.

“Holy Yoba,” she whispered. Stalagmites surrounded her, but they weren’t like any she had ever seen – thick as a tree trunk and dotted with something that shimmered blue. Some of them met the tips of the stalactites, though Maeve had to crane her head back to see where they connected. Paths, made of dirt but clearly well-trod, led inward. The whole cavern sparkled with an iridescent light, not all blue – some shined like amethyst, some red as rubies. Water dripped somewhere to her left.

The footsteps were garbled here – a few prints, but with the amount present they would be useless to try and follow. With nothing else to guide her, she picked the rightmost path and carried on. She dug through her bag, hoping she’d have something to throw behind her – maybe breadcrumbs; she faintly remembered an old human story that went something like that – but she had nothing. She would have to trust her memory.

She lost track of time. If she was being honest with herself, she lost track of space, too. Had she already passed that particularly pointy stalagmite? No, she had _definitely_ seen it before. But before it was next to a green one. So maybe this was a new one? And last time she had turned left. So, she should she turn right again?

Despite the open space, she felt her throat closing in panic. She had only brought some strawberries, as well as a few cave carrots she had dug up. She could last some days without food, but water? She’d be dead in three. Nobody would know where her bones rested. Her spirit, denied a proper burial, would wander the caves, eternally lost. She’d never join her loved ones.

Maeve crouched and ducked her head between her knees, trying to stifle her panicked sobs. “You will not die here,” she groaned, clenching fistfuls of her hair. Her mantra. “You will not die here. You will _not. Die. Here_.” She allowed herself another minute of tears, but no more. Crying wasted water, it wasted energy, and it wasted time. Crying wouldn’t save her.

She’d only taken two steps when it hit her. _The strawberries._ It pained her to leave the sweet little morsels behind, but she could use them to track her way. It was better than eating them and inevitably starving to death, in any case. For each fork in the road or turn she had to take, she left behind a strawberry. This quickly proved useful, as serval paths twisted and turned into one another. While it was still hard to tell what kind of progress she was making, it was definite progress.

She was considering tasting the dirt – just to see what it was like – when another shadow flitted across her path. Maeve’s hand was instantly to her dagger, her back to the wall to prevent anybody from sneaking up on her.

“I’m armed,” she called, voice reverberating, echoing back on itself until it sounded as if there were an army of her. Whatever created the shadow didn’t respond. She stilled, but heard nothing but her own breaths.

 _Maybe I imagined it,_ she thought, but kept the dagger tight in her grip. Within three steps she was on the ground, crying out as she tumbled, tripping over a line so thin it was like spider web.

She hit the ground with a solid _thunk,_ not injuring her head or ankle but losing her grip on the dagger. She scrambled for it, fumbling in the darkness, but felt nothing. Nothing had attacked her, nothing had tried to incapacitate her, so she murmured the words to a spell that would bring light to her palms. Maeve had to suppress the gasp that instinctively rose to her throat at what she saw.

A dwarf. A real, living, breathing, flesh-and-blood _dwarf_ , the very thing she’d been looking for. It had set a trap, or else the had crossed paths some other way, but she ad found it. Marlon had been right. Said dwarf was also looking at her dagger, carefully examining one side of the blade, and then the other. She didn’t want to startle it, but it hadn’t seemed to notice yet that she was there.

“Hello?” it was much of a question as it was a statement. The dwarf squeaked, startled, and scrambled to get away, but Maeve was too quick. In one swift motion she had taken back her dagger and had the dwarf on the ground, pinned with her body weight.

She could feel the dwarf shaking beneath her, and she felt a brief moment of pity. But only brief. She’d read of the dwarf’s power in combat, how they trained their young within two weeks of birth, when they were barely learning to walk. The Elemental Wars had been destructive on both sides, and the dwarfs had not gone easily.

But maybe this dwarf was young. The Elemental Wars had ended centuries ago, and while dwarves had the longest lifespan of the creatures in the Valley – longer even than the fae, and they lived for _eons_ – this one could be but a child. They may not even remember the Elemental Wars, would never have met the fair folk before. She would be kind, as much as she was able, after she was sure.

“I-I’m not dangerous!” the dwarf cried, raising its one free hand in surrender. The other was trapped beneath its own body, unable to move because of Maeve’s position. She couldn’t see the dwarf’s face but for the red eyes – the same glowing red eyes she had seen all the night before. That didn’t mean this was the same dwarf, of course, but it confirmed her initial suspicions. “I just saw the sword and I was curious! I p-promise I’m not a thief!”

“Then why was there a trap set?” Maeve growled, grateful that she had been reading up on dwarven languages. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to communicate otherwise.

“They’re all o-over this cave, in case the shadow people come back. That’s what they tell me. You’re n-not a shadow person, are you?” The dwarf, though still shaking, had stopped trying to push her off.

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to eat me?”

The thought was so absurd that Maeve snorted out a laugh. “I’m not _that_ hungry. Yet. What’s your name, dwarf?”

“Sargouk.” Maeve felt a small rush of energy, hearing his name. They didn’t know it, but names gave her power. But she wouldn’t use it. She never had. While some of the fair folk enjoyed the power a true name gave them, Maeve had always felt dirty using it for her purposes. To impose her will on another was power she didn’t want.

“Sargouk, I’m going to let you up now, but if you’re faking meekness, I won’t hesitate to slice your neck.” All said coolly, without emotion. Sargouk squeaked in terror and nodded. His hood, somehow, remained in place, and Maeve still couldn’t see his face. Dagger pointed, she stood up and to the side, allowing Sargouk to stand and brush dirt off his clothes – a simple red cloak that looked just a little too large for his frame.

“Thank you,” Sargouk said, peering up at Maeve. She wondered what she looked like to the little dwarf. A giant? She was well over three times his height, even taller than the humans in town, probably. If they had ever even seen them – though the presence of those eyes up in the mountains led her to believe that at least some dwarfs, perhaps even Sargouk, had been spying on them.

“Where am I, Sargouk? Where are your people? I know it can’t be just you.”

Sargouk looked down at his shoes – or, in Maeve’s case, bare feet, scuffed up by the rocks and even darker with the dirt. “We live down here, deep in the caves. You’re not far from the city.”

“Will you take me there?”

Though still clearly scared, Sargouk’s voice took on an edge to it. “Why should I? How do I know you’re not here to kill us?”

“I didn’t kill you.”

“Because you need me. You’ll be lost in these caves forever without me.”

He weren’t wrong, but that wasn’t why. “I’m not interested in killing anybody. I came here following some ancient legends. I’m looking for something, something that only _your_ people have.”

“What is it?” Not an accusatory tone, just curious.

“I don’t know,” Maeve admitted. “The texts were vague. But it’s very, very important.” They were at a standstill, and Maeve didn’t blame them for not trusting her. She’d just appeared, threatened the dwarf that lived there, and demanded they take her to their home, which had been hidden for thousands of years. “How about this: I swear on a blood oath that I will do no purposeful harm to you or your people, if you’re willing to take me in.”

“And how do I know that the oath will matter?”

“Because of this.” Without waiting for a response, she took the dagger and sliced her forearm – not the palm, she never understood why people sliced such a sensitive part of the body when blood was the same everywhere. The blade, stained crimson, hummed as she murmured the binding words.

“There,” she said, wiping the blade on her shirt. “It’s done. I can’t harm you or your people while we’re down here, not even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

Wordlessly, Maeve hurled the dagger at Sargouk. The angle she threw it at should have met him dead on in the forehead, but it curved around him, clattering harmlessly to the ground. He picked up the dagger and handed it to Maeve.

“Follow me.”

* * *

Sargouk, though assured that Maeve wasn’t going to kill them, didn’t open up. He kicked rocks, stopped occasionally to pick up (and lick) gems, and paused to observe the path they were on. Maeve asked no questions, knowing she was on thin ice already. She walked with him in tandem, stopping when he stopped, picking up stones that he ignored. “Sargouk, thank you for taking me. It’s a very brave thing, what you’re doing.”

Sargouk hummed softly. “It’s only right.”

“How do you know?”

“I just have a feeling.”

A feeling. That was enough.

Her stomach was starting to grumble when they turned a corner. Sargouk patted Maeve’s knee to get her attention. “When we go, do not speak. They will be afraid.”

She nodded, figuring that she should just start now. Sargouk crawled through an unassuming hole in the wall, small even for a dwarf, and Maeve followed, holding her breath to keep from hyperventilating.

She wasn’t prepared for what she saw next.

Maeve had thought that the cavern, with its sparkling geological formations, was impressive. Compared to the sight before her, they looked like simple pebbles. Miles and miles of buildings – farther than she could make out. Some were carved from the dark rock, some built with dirt, some a mishmash of different materials. Most buildings, particularly homes, were shorter than what Maeve was used to; some were barely tall enough to let her stand up straight. She couldn’t help but marvel at everything she passed, asking Sargouk how long that building had been around, what was that market for, what kind of meat was that, she’d never seen it before and what did it taste like? Dwarves looked at her strangely as they passed, but nobody stopped or questioned them. Sargouk tried to answer her questions as best he could, but seemed distracted, taking Maeve down a twisty path that seemed out of the way from the main square. They finally stopped at a squat building, made of cobblestone but with a heavy looking wooden door.

Sargouk tapped Maeve again, a signal for silence. He tapped a rhythm on the door Maeve would never be able to remember. As he did so, she quietly adopted her glamour, having to use a little extra magic to ensure it held in place. She doubted she could truly fool the old dwarves, but it would make her a little more comfortable.

A dwarf even shorter that Sargouk cracked the door open; this one had eyes that glowed orange. They peered up at Maeve suspiciously and whispered to Sargouk in rapid-fire Dwarven, too quickly for Maeve to catch more than a few words. She smiled politely when the other dwarf made eye contact with her. With a huff, they shut the door.

“What’s happening?” Maeve whispered. Sargouk waved a hand at her, and a moment later, the door swung wide.

“Thank you,” Sargouk said, bowing low to the other dwarf. Maeve wasn’t sure what to do, so she imitated Sargouk. It was better to be overly formal than to be accidentally rude. The other dwarf didn’t bow back, just closing the door behind them.

The room was short enough that Maeve’s head grazed the ceiling, but at least she didn’t have to duck. The floor was made of dirt, and the walls were bare, adorned by a single picture of a flower that seemed out of place. A candle burned dimly on the floor, where a trio of dwarves circled around it. All wore large robes and hoods. None revealed more than their eyes.

Sargouk took a seat across from where the dwarf they had bowed to was. Maeve sat next to him, imitating the way he folded his legs. They began to talk to each other in rapid-fire dwarvish, and while she was able to pick out a few words – including _curse_ – everything else flew by her ears. Finally, the head dwarf turned to her, setting his intense green gaze on her own. _They remind me of emeralds,_ she thought. Perhaps all the dwarves were like this, a reflection of the gems they spent their lives searching for.

“You come seeking knowledge,” the dwarf said, tones low and rumbly. Maeve nodded. She noticed that he didn’t offer his name. Smart. He must have been old enough to have dealt with fae before – perhaps a folk who was more judicious in their use of binding magic.

“I come to break the curse on the Valley. All I know is that the dwarves hold one piece of the spell. How can I find it?”

“It must be earned, not found. Why do you wish to break the curse anyways?”

Maeve started at the question. She hadn’t really thought of it, the _why_. She’d been told to go break the curse, but she hadn’t resisted. Why? Did she want glory? With a tinge of guilt, it occurred to her that her desire to free the Valley wasn’t entirely selfless. It might not even be half that. The residents had barely been on her mind when she’d agreed to the quest.

She looked the dwarf right in the eye, trying not to betray her truer motivations. “It’s just something I need to do.” That was all she would give him.

The dwarf stared back, unblinking. Finally, he nodded.

“I will give you what you seek, but not for free. There is something we have sought for generations. A gem that would give us unfathomable power. Bring us this gem, and what you seek will be yours.”

“Sounds simple enough.” She had expected it to be a more difficult task – fighting a dragon, perhaps, or preforming a sacrifice. A gem couldn’t be that hard to find, right? “What gem?”

She couldn’t see his face, but she suspected that the head dwarf was smirking. “The prismatic shard. A gift precious as the sky. A rainbow forged from land. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Maeve’s face paled. She knew of the prismatic shard, an exceedingly rare gem said to grant immense power. Used to make famed weapons such as the galaxy sword, a blade that had gone unseen for so long that people suspected it never really existed.

The dwarf didn’t intend to give her what she needed. He wanted her on a quest that would never end.

“Any questions?” His tone, previously complying, was now damaging in its arrogance. She would never find the gem in these caves, and he knew it. Or if she did, it would take so long that he would find some other way to delay her.

“Are you willing to seal it with an oath?” A narrowing of the eyes was the only clue the dwarf gave that he didn’t like this proposition. So his confidence had its limits. _No problem,_ she thought. _Even if I am eons old by the time I find it, at least he’ll be bound by blood to repay me for it._

“If I must,” he sighed. He stood and motioned for the other dwarves to leave. All but Sargouk left through a hidden door in the back, a tiny thing that even they had to crawl through. The head dwarf lifted the sleeves of his robe, revealing dark, knotted skin, like the trunk of a tree. He drew a small knife from the back of his robe, smaller and more ornate than her own. The hilt was set with valuable gems of every color – rubies, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, some others that she couldn’t name. He held his hand, palm up, over the candle, and Maeve moved to mirror him.

The dwarf started with a low chant, the words an even more ancient dialect of dwarvish that Maeve didn’t know. She could only assume that they were binding words.

“I swear on my ancestors that, should you bring the prismatic shard that I request, I will provide for you the knowledge and the item that _you_ seek.” He rose the knife to his hand and sliced it, then handed it to her. She winced. She knew that for these kinds of spells, the blood did need to come from the hand – usually, the palms themselves had to meet. It still made her squirm.

“And I swear on my ancestors that I will do my best to obtain the prismatic shard, and that I will do only right once I obtain the things you promise to exchange.” She took the knife and cut her left palm, the same the dwarf had cut. She handed him back his knife, and they shook hands over the candle. A few dark drops trickled down, giving a soft _hiss_ as they hit the flame. Maeve could feel magic pulsing from the cut in her hand. The dwarf let go. They both stepped back.

“You may see one of our healers about that wound before you go. Sargouk, escort her out. And this is just a personal request… but don’t tell anybody in the Valley about us. We’ve kept it a well-guarded secret. I’d hate for that to change.” The implication was clear – tell anyone about us and we’ll kill you. Maeve nodded. It wouldn’t be a problem.

* * *

Sargouk led Maeve to a little hut about five minutes away from the alley they’d been in. The healer, a tall (by their standards) woman, was the first she’d seen without the hood up. Her skin was textured much like the head dwarf’s arm – knotted like a tree, though a bit paler. Maeve wondered if it was a sign of age, or if all dwarves were like that. Her eyes glowed blue, twinkling like sapphires.

She didn’t ask questions when she saw the cut on Maeve’s palm. Perhaps she saw this kind of wound often, understood its significance. She didn’t ask questions about Maeve not being a dwarf either, for which she was grateful. She simply wrapped Maeve’s hand with a poultice of herbs, some that she recognized, some she didn’t. First it stung, then soothed, the wound.

“Keep that on until the morning,” she said, voice as gruff and deep as everybody else she’d heard. “It will heal the worst of it.”

“Thank you,” Maeve said, fiddling with the edge of the bandage. Wordlessly, Sargouk led her out, then through the back roads until they were back at the entrance of the city.

Maeve was sorry to go so soon. She’d never imagined a _metropolis_ underground like this. She wanted to explore, she wanted to meet the dwarves. She was intensely curious and hoped that she’d get to return soon – without the context of a curse haunting her.

“Do you need help finding the surface?” Sargouk asked, voice small. He was suddenly shy, and Maeve wondered if seeing her take an oath had frightened him. Maybe it wasn’t so common as she thought.

“Yes, actually. I was hopelessly lost until you found me,” she laughed. Had that only been an hour ago? A little more, maybe, but not much. It had felt like days.

Sargouk chuckled to themselves. “I’m glad I found you. It was nice, to meet an outsider.”

“How old are you?” It was blunt question, but she figured Sargouk wouldn’t mind.

“About a hundred and three. In relation to humans, I’m like a teenager.”

“Ah. Have you met the humans?” As they talked, Maeve tried to memorize the paths they were taking, to no avail. It wound in all directions and seemed to twist on itself, paths crossing over each other.

“No. We’re forbidden to speak with them. So I just watch, usually from the bushes, sometimes in the cave entrance. That purple-haired, pale-faced girl and the old man with the eyepatch come by a lot.”

 _And you saw me break my ankle,_ Maeve thought, somewhat annoyed. But Sargouk couldn’t have helped it. It took no time at all – a half hour, tops – to reach the top of the cave system.

“I don’t know when I’ll find the prismatic shard.” _Or if._ “But when I do, can you help me find your people again? I don’t think there’s a chance I’ll be able to find your city all on my own again.”

“Then that means it’s working,” Sargouk said, a hint of a smile in his voice. Clearly, he was proud of his history, and Maeve couldn’t blame him. It was a shame that he had to hide. “Let me show you my cave.” To the very right of the entrance was a massive rock, a pile of rubble that Maeve had noticed before and dismissed. A landslide that had blocked a cave with nothing of interest behind it. The dwarf wiggled through the rocks in a small hole that Maeve could fit through, though barely. It led to a small tunnel that widened slightly into a round, cozy room. A candle, as well as a blanket and several weird looking pieces of machinery, were arranged neatly in the back.

“This is my store!” Sargouk beamed. “Well, it _will_ be my store, one day. I’ve… I’ve been trying to get our leaders to consider getting back on good terms with the humans. Or any terms, since right now they don’t know we exist.”

“What do you sell?” Maeve asked, squatting in front of the blanket. She could see a few metal scraps, as well as a shimmery rock candy.

“Ideally, some excess treasures that I dig up, and this specialty candy we produce. Miner’s candy. It gives you a boost of strength. Here, take one!” He shoved the candy into Maeve’s hand. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to eat it right then, but Sargouk watched her, clearly waiting for her to put it in her mouth. She lifted it tentatively, licking the edge of the stick. It was sweet, with a hint of… strawberry? She tested the bottom, the green part of the rainbow. Apple. Each taste brought forth a different explosion of fruit and sugar – not so sweet as to be overwhelming, not so fruity that she forgot it was candy. With the sugar came the energy, rushing from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes.

“Sargouk, this is delicious!”

“Take it with you. And here, another. I come up here every few days to restock my wares. Just in case. When you find the shard, leave me a note here, and keep checking back. I’ll figure out a time to meet.” Sargouk reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “And, Maeve? If you ever want to visit… maybe buy something… I’d appreciate it.” His voice was small, a little hesitant. Maeve patted his hand and turned back to the entrance.

“I will, Sargouk. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've run out of songs for chapter titles already LOL. this chapter was a doozy but i loved writing it!! i was so excited to explore the mines some more and get some Plot Happening. if you haven't already, say hi to me on tumblr @petalbrooke! as always, thanks so, so, so much for taking the time to read my little piece of the fandom. <3


	7. Thief

By the time Maeve left the caves it had grown dark again, and the tiny pricks of light from the stars were the only thing to guide her home. Even Marlon’s window was dark, and Maeve suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired, her bones weighed down by the task in front of her. The mines had been a fun little adventure when she was with Abigail. Now it was a massive task, one that would require more skill than she possessed. Prismatic shards were the rarest of all gems, found deep in the caves where lava flowed freely and monsters ruled. She’d barely made it down five floors before breaking an ankle. How was she supposed to make it that deep?

_I won’t despair,_ she thought. _Maybe there’s an alternative somewhere. Gunther’s library will have an answer._ More and more she found herself drawn to the books on the shelves, as they seemed to have the clearest answers. There was no body language with books, no confusion of meaning.

In the morning. She’d go in the morning. Now, she nearly wanted to collapse outside the yellow tent she saw peeking over the cliff. The fire in front of it looked so comforting.

_Just a few minutes_ …

* * *

Maeve awoke, blinking, to a harsh light and a sore side. She was laying on the dirt, and her neck was cramped from being bent at a strange angle. A man with leathery skin and a dirty, tangled beard was in her peripheral vision. She shot up, moaning as the blood rushed from her head.

The man turned to her, seemingly unperturbed. “Ah, you’re finally awake. Would you like some fish?” He had an incredibly gentle, calming way of speaking that instantly put Maeve at ease. He was a wild man, sure, but he wouldn’t hurt her. She could tell.

“Thank you. Did I, ah, fall asleep out here?”

“It was a nasty shock, coming out to see someone sprawled in front of my campfire,” he chuckled. “Not the first time I’ve had to help a soul out in the woods. Adventurers get lost, or their pride fools them into believing they’re stronger than they are. Marlon and I make sure nobody dies out here.”

“Marlon. You work with him?” Maeve took a bite of the fish, though she wasn’t very hungry.

“In a sense.”

“Then why don’t you live with him? I’m sure he has room for another in that sturdy cabin of his.” It wasn’t until after she asked the question that she realized it might have been an insensitive one. Back home, plenty of fae lived wild in the woods – it could cultivate more powerful magic. Here, she hadn’t seen a single person in something as flimsy as a tent.

The man shrugged. “I prefer to be one with nature.” It was a simple answer, but a complete one.

“Well, thank you. I’m sorry for causing you any trouble or worry. I was in the mines late, and I must have just… collapsed. I feel much better now, though, I promise.”

The man peered at her, not entirely convinced. “At least let me send you off with a basket of berries. The Valley always gives me plenty.”

Maeve shook her head. “No, I’m fine, I promise. I actually just moved into the farm, just south of here. I have lots of wild berry bushes that have been supplying me nicely. You’re welcome to some, any time!” She didn’t know why, but she wanted a friendship with this man. Maybe it was just his kindness, but she could just _sense_ that he was deeply in tune with most important parts of this place. More in tune than she could hope to be, certainly.

The man smiled at her offer. “That’s mighty kind of you, miss…”

“Maeve.”

“And I’m Linus.” He reached out a broad hand, the cleanest part of his grimy body. “It’s always nice to meet someone who appreciates nature, though I wish the circumstances were better.”

“I’ll make sure to not pass out next time I want to see you,” Maeve smiled. She stood slowly, making sure her head was no longer pounding, and other than the soreness on the side she had slept on, she seemed fine. Some more sleep, and some more water, and she’d be alright.

Linus chuckled and began to work on putting out the fire. "Tent is open any time."

* * *

The sleep and the food were lovely – just what she had needed to recover. She was beginning to realize how privileged and cushioned a life she had led, for her to faint after one outing to the mines. Sure, she’d gone deep, and she hadn’t eaten enough, and maybe she wasn’t drinking enough water… but still.

Today would be another day at the library, with a stop at Marlon’s place to see if he knew anything about prismatic shards. Her hopes weren’t high. Surely if the dwarves, who _lived_ in the mines, hadn’t found anything, a mere human like Marlon wouldn’t have, but it was still worth checking out. On her way there, Maeve stopped at the calendar to double check that she had the day right. With her hours in the caves and her night in front of Linus’s tent, she was growing disoriented. Thankfully, it was the day she thought it was – a Thursday in early summer. The sun was hot on her head, and she wished she had a hat. She was passing out what was left of her strawberries to people on her way to the library.

“Gunther, I have a question!” she called, voice sing-songy as she threw the door open. To her surprise, nobody else was in the library. Usually she could count on Penny to be there with the only two children in town, or Elliott with his many books.

Gunther wasn’t at his desk either; after a few minutes of peering around bookshelves Maeve found him precariously balanced on the top of a rolling ladder, rearranging books. She hurried to steady the ladder, which could be described as wobbly at best.

“This isn’t safe,” Maeve said, tilting her head back to get a good look at him. The ladder reached high enough that he would certainly break an arm, at the least, if he fell. If his luck wasn’t good, it would be his neck.

Gunther made a noise that conveyed no true emotion and continued to arrange the books. When he was satisfied, he slid down, a little too fast for Maeve’s liking. The ladder rattled under her hands. He tipped his at hat at her in greeting. “How can I help ya, miss?”

“I had a question about a certain rare gem. Prismatic shards.”

“What about them?”

“Everything. Where you can find them, mostly?”

Gunther narrowed his eyes as he stared her down. “Prismatic shards are incredibly rare. What could you need one for?”

“I don’t need to _use_ it,” Maeve said, a little too quickly. Technically, this was true. She didn’t need to use it – the dwarves did. “I just heard about them recently and so I was curious. I’ve never seen one before.”

Gunther watched her for a long moment, and her thoughts raced. It was innocent enough, wanting to know more about the things he displayed, wasn’t it? Was there some nefarious thing prismatic shards were used for that she didn’t know about? _Am I making a huge mistake, getting this for the dwarves?_ There were plenty of elemental gems that could channel and power magic. But she didn't know anything about what the prismatic shard did, because she'd never seen one before.

“Come with me.” He didn’t explain anything else, instead leading her behind his counter, which had a lock. She wasn’t really sure the point of the lock – the counter wouldn’t be hard to jump over. He rummaged through the bottom drawer and pulled out a small box – heavy, made of some solid dark wood, perhaps oak. Inside the box was a velvet bag. Maeve had to restrain herself as he pulled from the bag a tiny, glimmering prismatic shard.

It was simultaneously much smaller and much more colorful than she had imagined. The afternoon light filtered through the window, and as Gunther rotated the stone in his hand the light transformed it into hundreds of colors that reflected on the wall – blue like the sky, of course, but also the deep river; red like the flickering embers of a fire, greener than the deepest trees, colors Maeve didn't think she could name.. It was about the size of Gunther’s thumbnail, and Maeve couldn’t understand how so many colors could come from something so tiny.

“What a marvelous little gem,” she murmured. Without being aware of it, she began to reach for it, long fingers extended. In a flash, the gem disappeared; Gunther had managed to put the gem in both the bag and the box without Maeve even seeing the motion.

“It is,” he said, a hard line suddenly present in his voice. “Marlon found one, though he didn’t tell me where. Never seen one before or since.”

“So you don’t display it.”

He shook his head, replacing the box and locking the drawer. “No.”

“And you don’t know where it came from.”

“Nope.”

Maeve’s brow furrowed. She’d hoped that at the least she’d have a _general_ idea of where the shard had come from. From the way Gunther was talking, this could be a one of kind gem.

“Thank you for showing me, Gunther.”

“You’re always free to look, Maeve, just ask.” He smiled and slipped the key in his jacket pocket. The implication of look, not touch, was clear.

* * *

Maeve paced the floor as she braided and unbraided the same strand of hair, her thoughts a muddy, confusing swirl. She needed a shard, and she needed it desperately. There was no chance the dwarf would take any substitute. There was no chance she could make any headway on this curse if she didn’t complete this little task. It was around midnight when it dawned on her what she needed to do.

She was going to need to steal it.

She didn’t like this. Thievery could technically get your hand cut off at home, though it was hardly ever enforced. And Gunther had been so _kind_. He had immediately shown her all his books, all his treasures, even his most valuable, most protected one, without question. She didn’t know him that well, but she could tell he was honest and hardworking – a man of integrity. And he was trusting – after all, he hadn’t tried to conceal where the shard was. He was a good man and pure of heart and exactly the kind of person she wanted to protect.

But she needed it. For Gunther’s sake, though he didn’t know it. For his and everyone’s futures.

“I’m sorry,” Maeve whispered, though of course in her house Gunther couldn’t hear her apology.

It wasn’t hard to prepare. She would go that night – Gunther was unlikely to check the status of the shard so soon after he had just seen it, and odds were he would connect the dots no matter when he discovered the theft. She’d deal with that problem when she got to it. All she would need were her wits, her magic, and a small bag. For good measure, she added a rock – a pebble, really – to replace the shard with. Obviously it would be no help if he opened the bag, but it was about the same size and weight. Maybe that would be enough to stave him off. For good measure, she whispered a small enchantment over it. She couldn’t waste the energy to make it permanent, but for a week or two, it would give the appearance of a prismatic shard – assuming that he didn’t look too closely.

The bar. That was where she would go first. It would get her closer to the museum, she’d be able to watch and confirm that Gunther left. She could chat with someone at the bar, talk about how she was _so_ tired, would need to go to bed. It wasn’t an airtight alibi or anything, but it was better than nothing.

Resolved, Maeve headed into town. Though it was late, the sun was still up – low, sinking, but still up, splashing the horizon with streaks of orange and red. It reminded her of the prismatic shard, and a fresh pang of guilt stabbed her heart. She tried to shake it off. _It’s for his own good,_ she thought, knowing she’d have to keep saying it to convince herself. Thievery was not for her. She was pleased to see that Leah was sitting in what appeared to be her usual spot, drinking her usual red wine. They noticed each other at the same time, and Leah waved her over.

“Maeve, hi! How have you been? We haven’t really gotten to talk since the day I found you outside Harvey’s.”

“I’m doing a bit better. My sleep has been well. Have you… made any art, recently?” Maeve, not being a particularly artistic person, wasn’t completely sure how it worked. Did you just make art when inspiration struck? Did you work ceaselessly on it, giving up food and sleep until you were satisfied? _Were_ you ever satisfied? Was it all of the above? What kind of art did she even make?

Leah laughed softly, and Maeve noticed how _pretty_ she was. Her face was small and heart shaped, pale, covered in dark freckles. Her fingers were long and thin, and Maeve couldn’t help but stare as they wrapped around the stem of her glass. _If she were fae, she’d fit right in with the autumn court,_ she thought. They were full of artists as well – the palace of the spring court had a massive statue of their queen, made of marble, commissioned by the finest artists in the autumn court.

Leah launched into a story about how she’d tried to make a life-like chicken statue for Marnie’s store, modeled off one of Shane’s incredible blue chickens. The chicken – Charlie – was timid, and didn’t want to stay still long enough for Leah to get an accurate shape. She’d thought she’d finally gotten the details of its plumage just right when Charlie decided to sit on her clay, effectively squashing it beyond repair.

“It’s like he was telling me absolutely not,” Leah laughed. “I tried to salvage what I could, but it was no use.”

“So what did you do with the clay?” Leah didn’t seem like the wasteful type.

“I ended up making it a pot, covered in feather imprints. Marnie still took it, though probably out of pity.”

“I’d love to see your art someday,” Maeve said, the words tumbling out before she really understood what she was saying. But it was true. She wanted to see this thing that Leah loved so much. The dreamy look in her eyes made Maeve think that even a pot a chicken sat on could be beautiful.

Leah beamed. “Even better idea: why don’t you join me? I have more supplies in my cottage than I could ever work through in this lifetime.”

Maeve yawned and stretched, though the stretch was mostly for show. It was nearly time for her to leave. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really an artist.”

“Everyone is an artist.” Leah said this with an intense sincerity. “We just have to find your medium.”

Maeve smiled and pushed back her chair, faking another yawn. “Sure. Maybe I’ll sit on a hunk of clay like Charlie. Goodnight, Leah.” Leah giggled and waved goodbye, ordering another glass of wine as Maeve took her leave. It had been nice, talking to Leah. She could see a potential friend in her, if she was to stay long enough. And maybe she could try something with clay, or paint, or even word. She'd dabbled with wood a little before, though she had never achieved any kind of mastery. Satisfied nobody was watching her, she drew her hood and melted into the shadows.

The northern path was abandoned, as Maeve expected, and she was able to slip from the saloon to the library without notice. It was a longer route, but the southern path meant potentially running into Lewis at his mansion, or Sam and his family on their way home, or even Clint the blacksmith on his way to or from the bar. The back seemed to be deserted – there was a large building sandwiched between the river and the cliff, but it had been abandoned long ago. Various vines and other foliage had woven themselves into a net around the brick and tiles, crushing them. A tree had started to grow in the center of the remains, strong branches pushing towards the sun. She wondered what it used to be. Nobody had mentioned it to her before, but it was large enough it must have been important.

_One mystery at a time,_ she thought, and continued to the library. The light in the smithery was off, telling her Clint was gone – though she wasn’t sure where he lived, now that she thought about it. In town? Her stomach knotted when she realized he potentially lived _in_ his smithery, in the back. She relaxed just a bit. He hadn’t been at the Saloon, and he probably wasn’t out and about, considering the late hour. It didn’t seem his style. If he wasn’t in town, and the lights were out, he was likely asleep. Still, she drew her hood tighter, and crept as low under the bushes as she could.

One thing she did know was that Gunther didn’t live in the museum. His modest home was somewhere higher in the mountains, near Marlon and the Guild. He locked up the library at eight every night and went home for tea, where he read a chapter of his latest book and was in bed before ten. It was half past that now, and Maeve trusted that Gunther had been telling the truth when she’d probed him about his routines.

Maeve crept up to the door and looked over her shoulder. Nobody in sight. This was her last chance to turn back and find it honest.

_I have to_. She steeled herself with a deep breath and whispered a spell into the lock, which opened easily. In one swift motion, Maeve slipped in and shut the door behind her.

The library was _quiet_. Of course she had expected it to be quiet. And it shouldn’t have been weird, not really. Wasn’t a library supposed to be quiet? But in the day, there were still little sounds – the breaths of the few patrons, the soft flutter of book pages being turned, the creak of chair legs scraping against the floor. Now it was just her, and the sound of her breath alone was unsettling. Maeve was thoroughly creeped out – it felt like there were ghosts between the shelves, watching her. She resolved to make this heist in record time and sprinted for the counter, which she easily leaped over as she thought she would.

“Let’s see…” she muttered to herself, humming softly, though she remained alert for any sounds besides her rummaging. The box was easy enough to locate and open – a simple lock was no match for her magic. She gingerly lifted the small velvet bag from the box and pulled the shard out. Without moonlight to reflect, she only had the swirling colors of the shard, but they were still magnificent. The guilt only made her hesitate for a second as she swapped it with her pebble. She rolled the stone back and forth between her fingers – it was smooth like glass, but she suspected it was as hard as a diamond and would resist shattering if she dropped it. She pocketed it. _It’s a pretty rock, but I don’t see why they want it so bad._ She promised Gunther silently that she would find him a new one.

Maeve hopped over the counter again, taking care not to knock anything over. She had some time… Perhaps checking out the books again was worth it. Gunther had never said she couldn’t look at them, so it wasn’t like she was breaking any rules there. Besides the fact that he wasn’t here to oversee it. Without even realizing it, she had walked across the room, floorboards creaking thunderously loud, and her fingers hovered over the cabinet lock.

“Need the key?” Maeve whipped around, hand instantly at her waist where her dagger was sheathed. In the second it took for her to position herself, she’d worked out her options – fight hand to hand, fight with magic, or run. None were good. Did she have time to cast a memory spell, so they would forget she had been here? Would they tell Gunther? She had no feasible reason to be here and couldn’t lie about it regardless. If she ran, she’d just look guiltier. Her mind raced for an excuse when she realized who stood across from her.

“Oh, Elliott, it’s you. What are you doing here?” The beach wasn’t far from here, and she knew he frequented the library. But it was late and, like her, he had no reason to be here.

Elliott reached into his pockets, and Maeve’s grip tightened, trying to decide if she wanted to draw it or not. He chuckled and extracted a ring of keys from his coat pocket. “Gunther gave me keys to the place a long time ago. When my insomnia plagues me, I come here to read. It’s amazing that he trusts you enough to give you a set as well.” His voice was relaxed, but his smile didn't meet his suspicious eyes.

“I was just looking for something,” Maeve said, smiling as sweetly as she could. She let go of the dagger, deciding Elliott wasn't an imminent threat. Elliott’s demeanor would lead her to believe he wasn’t dangerous, but she had seen the hard lines of his muscles, the quickness of his mind. She suspected he could hold his own in a fight – and even if she was quicker and slyer, he towered over her and could take her down if he got an opening.

“Ah. Something.” Elliott took slow steps – not directly towards her, but angled in such a way the distance between them still closed. Maeve couldn’t step back. She was trapped by the bookcase and could feel the hard edge digging into her back. “I do wonder what that something could be,” he said lightly, running his fingers along the spines of the books. She was cornered.

“I bet you do.” She stepped toward him, trying to angle away so that if she had to run, the way would be clear to do so. “And I have to wonder if you’re really just here to read.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, and felt a jolt of satisfaction as his cheeks flared red.

“You’d be the first woman I’ve met here,” he said, lowering his voice to a deep rumble. Maeve felt her stomach twist, though she couldn’t identify the feeling. He’d leaned closer, eyes intense, and she knew she should step away, but felt a magnetic force keeping her in place. Something about his eyes locked her feet in place. His eyes flicked to her lips and back to her eyes, and he stepped back, breaking the hold he had on her. She could feel the change, as if a chain had been loosened that had weighed her down. “While your unexpected company is delightful, I really did come here to read." His voice was now barely above a whisper. He tipped her chin up with his hand, and though the gesture was loose, she could feel the strength concealed in it. She froze, no longer enchanted by him, suddenly terrified. She was alone, in a place she wasn't supposed to be, stealing something that wasn't hers, and nobody knew. Would anybody come to find her? “I could always arrange a rendezvous, if you'd like.”

“I think we run into each other enough.” Her

“I beg to differ.” He released her chin, and she let a breath out that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her skin burned where his fingers had brushed, and she couldn't decide how she felt about it. “You look tired, love. Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“Gladly,” she murmured, pushing away from him without being outright aggressive about it. She was shaken – partially from fear, but also from that other emotion, that nagging hint of something _else_ that she just couldn’t identify. She had underestimated how dangerous Elliott could be. There was something knowing in his eyes. He knew she didn't have keys to the library, and he _had_ to know she wasn't just there to read. She suspected that he wasn't either.

All of that was sidelined, however, when she felt the little gem in the palm of her hand, and saw its brilliant luster. Something, finally, had gone completely right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the patience waiting for this chapter! things have been a Lot. besides, like, the world, i have personally had work stress and my kitty has been not well :( so big tired but things are lil' better now, and im so encouraged by the stardew community on tumblr. thank you for reading, i love you, talk soon. <3


	8. the man mountain

Maeve rolled the prismatic shard between her fingers as she prepared to see Sargouk, trying to figure out what, exactly, made it so special. She didn’t feel any power coming from it. Not even an ounce of magic. It was certainly very colorful, a pretty little thing, but other than being a nice gemstone, it was unremarkable.

 _I don’t get it,_ she thought. And though she was certainly curious, the more important thing was that she would be getting what she wanted. Carefully, she placed the gem back in its pouch and followed the path that Sargouk had shown her. He wasn’t there, and she settled down in a corner of the cave. She knew he had said to leave a note, but she was patient. She could wait.

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long. She estimated it was about fifteen minutes before Sargouk appeared – long enough for her to start to get invested in a daydream, but not long enough to get lost in it. Sargok let out a little squeak as he shoveled his way through the tunnel, surprised that Maeve was there.

“Maeve! I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Did you miss me already?” he teased. Maeve laughed and shook her head.

“Better. I got your prize.” She couldn’t see Sargouk’s true expression, but his ruby eyes seemed to widen.

“The prismatic shard?” he gasped, dropping his bag of merchandise. Maeve flinched, half expecting a bomb to explode. He rushed forward, surprisingly swift despite his heavy robes. “May I… hold it?”

“Knock yourself out.” She didn’t completely understand the fascination with it, but Sargouk’s excitement was amusing nonetheless. “Didn’t think I’d find it so fast, did you?”

Sargouk frowned – or at least, his tone implied he was frowning. “I certainly didn’t. Where _did_ you get it? We've been mining for eons and only ever found two.”

“Ahh… Not in the caves. I’d prefer not to say more.” She wasn’t sure how the dwarves would feel about receiving a stolen artifact. _Borrowing,_ she reminded herself. _I’m just borrowing it_.

“No matter. They will be overjoyed to have this. Come, let’s go now!” Maeve didn’t hesitate as she followed him back down the winding caves, where not one bit of it felt familiar. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she suspected that they had somehow _changed_. Perhaps it was magic, or maybe it was just a culmination of the dwarves constantly digging, mining, picking through the hints of jewels embedded in the rock. She’d heard whispers before that the caves changed, but she had never believed them. Rock was supposed to be un-moving, sturdy. Despite the confusion, the journey was faster when Sargouk led the way, rather than Maeve stumbling through the dark.

More dwarves seemed to notice them this time, despite Maeve’s attempts to disguise herself with a glamour. Heads would swivel as she walked by, staring her and Sargouk down. She clutched the prismatic shard closely to her chest, suspecting it was somehow the source of the stares. The stone had started to warm in her hand. She didn’t think anybody would attempt to steal it, not with Sargouk escorting her. But still.

“Almost there,” Sargouk muttered, taking still different turns than Maeve remembered. She was glad she wasn't a dwarf - her sense of direction wasn't the best as it was, and without a sky or consistent directions she couldn't begin to orient herself. She wondered if the dwarves had a kind of magnetic compass.

To her relief, she recognized the building they stopped at as the one the elders resided in. Sargouk preformed another complicated knock, different but similar to the one from before. The door creaked open, a dark maw that invited them to step in.

This time, the elders were waiting for them, a small circle of hunched over bodies in the candlelight. The head elder stood and bowed; Sargouk and Maeve bowed in turn.

“I must confess,” the head dwarf said, his voice a low grumble, “I did not expect you to return so soon.”

“And I didn’t expect to find it so soon.” She opened her palm and displayed the gem. Despite the low light of the candle, it shimmered and threw rainbows on the wall. Excited murmurs came from all the dwarves around her, but the head elder merely stared her down. Although before it had been just a normal gem, it now seemed to pulse in her hand, like it had a little heartbeat. The head dwarf reached for it but Maeve pulled back, bringing it close to her chest.

“You swore an oath. I want my information.”

“I did swear an oath, which means you’ll get it,” the dwarf said lightly, “even if you give me the shard first. I need it to give you what you seek.”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed, but she knew he was right – the binding oath would prevent him from double crossing her, and she him. Reluctantly, she held the shard above his open palm, and let it drop. He didn’t hesitate in closing his rough, gnarled fingers over it.

“I shall return in a moment." He retreated to the room behind them. Maeve stood there silently, straining her ears to see if she could hear anything beyond the continued murmuring of the dwarves around them. She could smell some magic, as well as the worrying stench of burning and hot metal. But maybe that was the magic. She’d never been good at distinguishing the smells of magic versus alchemy, and even amongst the fae, magic could smell different. Sargouk took her hand, surprising her, and his little fingers – rough, but not as wrinkled or dirt stained as the elders – squeezed her own. She squeezed back, giving her new friend a small smile.

She couldn’t estimate how long the elder was gone, but it wasn’t long, and the room fell silent as he returned, shuffling over the dirt floor to her. He held out something small and shiny to Maeve, which she took. It was a small ring, but she found when she put it on any finger it closed perfectly around whichever finger she placed it on. It was set with a small portion of the prismatic shard – enough to get each color. The shard was already small, and she wondered how the elder could have possibly shaved even this small portion off.

“It was necessary for me to receive the shard in order to give you what you sought. Now, I shall explain, as I swore I would do.” He waved his hand, and all the other dwarves left. He stared down Sargouk, but he squeezed Maeve’s hand even tighter, clearly refusing to leave her. After a few moments the elder sighed and sat, and Maeve followed his lead.

“You’re looking to break the binding curse.” Maeve nodded, as it was a simple truth. “Generations ago, we were the keepers of one of the artifacts that stitched the spell together."

"Spell or curse?" Maeve said, realizing too late that it was probably very rude to interrupt him but not being able to stop herself. The fae had always called it a curse, and he had called it that, but also a spell. A binding spell. Perhaps it was a miss-translation, but to her, the two words had wildly different connotations.

The dwarf eyed her as if he wanted to reprimand her but couldn't be bothered to take the time. "Perspective. For a time, it was a beneficial spell for us. It protected us, united our peoples with another. But as time has gone, the benefits have waned. It is in our interest now to break the curse - a thing that was prophesied long ago. We prefer to be on the winning side."

Maeve's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. "I don't understand. You said that you're the keeper of an artifact, but you _just_ made this, didn't you?"

“That ring on its own will give you tremendous power. Can you feel it?” the dwarf said, completely ignoring her questions. Maeve stretched out the hand with the ring and flexed. She could feel _something_ in it, similar to how she’d felt eating the miner’s treat. She wasn’t sure exactly how to access it – it felt concentrated in the ring, resting just above the surface of her skin, waiting to be unlocked.

“I can feel it, but I don’t understand it,” she admitted. Did it make her disqualified to break the curse? Her mind flashed back to all the things her father had done to prepare her for this. If it had all been a waste…

“You will, in time,” the elder assured her. “You’ve never been exposed to dwarf magic, I’d venture. Experiment with it in the caves, perhaps, where it will be strongest. To answer your earlier question... the ring is ancient, as old as one of your eldest kings, I'd venture. It merely needed the shard to complete it. As you learn to connect with this different magic, you'll learn how to harness it. Sargouk, I'm sure, can help you learn."

“When all three of the artifacts are joined together, and brought to the witch of the valley, _then_ you can break the curse. It will be no easy task, child.”

She knew that there were three artifacts, and she suspected that the remaining two resided with the shadow people and the merpeople – that’s what she’d been told, and she’d found no contradictory information in the old tomes. Of course, the old tomes were frustratingly vague - she'd never heard anything about a witch before. She’d never really been sure what she was supposed to do when she found all three artifacts – or even what the three artifacts _were_.

“I didn't expect it to be easy,” was her simple reply. “Can you tell me more about the witch, maybe? I don't think our people ever spoke of a witch before."

"She wove the spell, so she has to be the one to help you break it. It's much easier when you go to the source. Sadly, I've never met her, nor do I know anything about her present whereabouts. She's kept her distance." 

Maeve pictured the actual threads of magic the curse had needed. She’d seen it briefly, when she broke into the valley. It had been difficult to find the gap that would let her in – the curse had been place by a highly skilled magician, the threads woven tightly, with little room to navigate them. Even the small weakness she’d found was only barely enough for her to make it in, and not enough for the curse to begin to unravel. She hadn't even been able to find the source.

“If you can’t tell me about the witch, who can?”

The dwarf shrugged, the movement causing the edge of his robes to ripple. “I don’t know that she is even alive.”

Maeve’s heart froze at the thought that her only hope might not even exist anymore. “Doesn’t a curse usually break itself when the caster dies?”

“Often. Not always. I have no idea what protections she placed on this curse.” His eyes glittered with something almost resembling sympathy. “I imagine that even if she has passed from this realm, she has left a way to break the curse in _someone’s_ hands. It was never meant to have a hold on the valley forever.”

Maeve’s brows scrunched together in confusion. “Then why put down a curse at all? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Another question for the witch. I was merely asked to safeguard the artifact – and I took that a step further, removing its source of power. A little too far, since I had to have you fetch it for me,” he laughed, the sound deep and rumbling. He leaned closer to her, lowering his already low voice. “The Shadow People have what you seek next. Check the sewers… I can’t tell you much more than that, as we... aren't on the best of terms, after the war."

“Thank you, elder. You have been an immense help.” Maeve reached forward to shake his hand, not entirely sure if dwarves shook hands or if they had a different custom that served a similar purpose. Thankfully, they shook hands too, though a bow was added at the end.

“You’re meant to break the curse, Maeve. I can sense an important destiny in you. I’m proud to know I got to play a role in it.”

“The sewers?” Maeve said, the last syllable lifting in a question.

“The sewers. The Shadow People are found all over the place, though only in the dark, in the hidden corners of the world. The sunlight burns them. A merchant – Krobus, I think his name is – lives down there. Or he did. I wish I could help you more.”

“It’s more than the library told me," Maeve muttered. "Thank you again, elder.” She turned to go, but the elder grunted as she nearly passed under the doorway.

“Just promise me one thing, Maeve.”

“Yeah?”

”Promise to be careful with that ring. It holds immense power – more, I think, than you can even feel right now. I trust you. But in the wrong hands… it would be destructive beyond comprehension.”

Maeve could have sworn that the ring pulsed in response to his words, and she felt her face flush. The importance of the artifact, of the power she held, didn't escape her notice, and she was reminded of every fear she had that she wasn't meant for this, that she would fail everyone. She swallowed those fears and stood tall, smiling down at Sargouk rather than looking at the elder.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rec a song in the comments bc ive already run out of titles lol


End file.
